Saving the Fox IX: Los Otros Caminos
by Therrae
Summary: You would think, if you lived at the edge of the known world, that hardly any visitors would come down your road. You'd be wrong.
1. October 13, 1814

**Los Otros Caminos (The Other Roads)**

This would be much, much harder if not for Pam, who has invested a huge amount of time in making transcripts of everything. Thank you!

As usual, Senselesswords has been tremendously supportive. Her help with titles is fantastic. Thank you!

**October 13, 1814**

**Diego**

The kitchen was a mess. Crockery was all over the floor and Nuela, never the most solid of women, was weeping over a small pond of oil. The jug must have fallen from the table; it had splattered quite a bit. Maria sighed and rescued a sack of flour from the spreading pool, but it was probably too late to salvage most of the contents.

Diego sighed and led Nuela over to a chair. She looked up at him with moist eyes. "It's just so terrible, Don Diego. The entire shelf went over. And that oil - the jug was full, and it was the expensive - "

Diego smothered his impatience and forced himself to joke. "Father is hardly going to take it out of your pay. He did _notice_ the earthquake. Accidents happen." He handed her a handkerchief. She sniffed bravely. "Come now, it's just a little mess. Things could have been much worse. Let's get this cleaned up, shall we? There must be some way to soak up the worst of it...Straw?"

Maria started to answer but Felipe burst in just then, his hands fluttering like a flock of birds. He fingerspelled much of the message, something he avoided unless he urgently needed to be specific or he was trying to say something sensitive: "I can't get near him! He is wild!"

"What's wrong," Maria asked worriedly.

"Some of the animals," Diego answered. "I'll take care of it." He put an arm around Felipe's shoulders and drew him swiftly along the passage, through the dining room, and into the library. When Felipe turned toward the fireplace, though, Diego caught his hand. "No, I can manage Toronado. You go on out and check on the sheep - Father's ugly ones. Yes, they're probably fine, but make sure. And check the well. Carefully. I will be all right."

Felipe answered with a worried look but hurried off to obey anyway.

As soon as he released the secret door Diego could hear the solid, regular thumping of Toronado kicking the half-walls of his stall. He winced. No. Felipe couldn't have handled_ that_, as good as the stallion usually was for him.

The lantern was covered and sitting neatly on the top step. Diego retrieved it and opened the shield. The workshop was not in as bad as a shape as the kitchen, but one of the shelves had come down (it shouldn't have, it had been secured to the wall, but never mind, this wasn't the time to wonder about it) scattering broken bottles and books. There were bits of rock on the floor, too: some of the ceiling had come down. There was also a definite smell of turpentine. Not strong (probably only one of the bottles had broken) but he had to get Toronado out of here, because who knew what else had broken.

In the lower level, Diego put the lantern down and paused beside the little stall. Instead of calming or coming toward him, Toronado flattened out his ears and kicked the back barrier so hard that the nails squealed.

Diego gave the whistle signal to lie down.

Toronado whipped his head around and snapped at him. It would have been a serious bite, if he'd been able to reach.

Diego took a single step back. "You want me away, I'll go away," he said gently. "But I think you want to go outside...and we can do that, if you let me help you. Come on, now. Easy, boy." He stepped forward again. One step. The ears didn't relax, but Toronado didn't try to bite this time. "Easy, boy." Diego patted his pockets, but of course he had no apples or carrots. He started to hum.

Toronado snorted and pawed at the ground.

Humming, Diego slowly took another step forward. He ran his hands over the little gate, trying to look as though he had all the time in the world and wasn't worried at all...certainly wasn't thinking of the possibility of an aftershock and another chunk of the ceiling coming down. He hummed a little louder.

Toronado's ears were not quite so tight to his head. Diego opened the gate, and when Toronado didn't complain, stepped through it. "Easy boy. Settle down. Let's just go for a walk outside? Toronado." The ears were up at last, but the eyes were suspicious. Diego laid his palm against the sweaty neck. Toronado shivered. Diego hummed again, softly.

Stroking, humming, taking his time, Diego removed the hackamore and replaced it with the bridle and medium bit Zorro used on forays. By the time he was finished the ears were upright. Rather than calm him down enough to mount bareback, Diego immediately led him down the passage and out into the open air of the ravine floor.

Outside it was cool and cloudy, but this time of day the ravine was shaded anyway. The bushes along the wall were greening up from the fall rains. The creek was running, but it was narrow enough to step over. It looked very peaceful and safe. Toronado gave a horsy sigh and rested his broad jaw against Diego's shoulder.

"Good boy," Diego muttered. "See? Everything's fine." He walked Toronado up and down for a while, then led him to the water for a good drink. It occurred to him that no less than three de le Vega stock pens were within a quarter mile of where he stood. It would be so simple to slip him in with the other horses, and with all the cleanup from the quake, no one would notice for a few days. They certainly couldn't keep Toronado in the cave right now...

But Don Alejandro would notice. Even now, he would notice. He knew every animal by face and gait; he wouldn't have to count or check brands. And if he wouldn't tell anyone that he Zorro's horse in his herd, well, he would _still_ wonder.

So, no, it was out of the question. They would have to tether Toronado out here, which meant checking on him often and praying that this wasn't the week someone wandered down into the little ravine looking for strays.

Diego settled Toronado, retrieved his lamp at the cave entrance, and went back inside. He didn't want to linger, but he did want to at least get a picture of how much damage was done. The chunk of ceiling that came down didn't seem to be much larger than a bed pillow, but part of it had struck the corner of the shelving unit on its way to the floor, and of course it had not been books stored there, but bottles.

What a mess.

Bracing himself against the worktable, Diego squatted down and held his light over the broken glass. He smelled the turpentine, but nothing else, so random and unpredictable reactions probably weren't happening right now on the floor. That was something, at least...

Well, _that_ had survived; a little brown jar of dried mullin. And a tiny, tiny bottle of Felipe's precious rose oil. But the broken bottle of turpentine had been full - by the look of the puddle - and it had soaked the scattered contents of the fallen packets and the other broken jars.

_This_ envelope had been full of carefully labeled samples of soil, mostly soaked and completely contaminated. _That_ package had been salt, likewise contaminated.

A clear glass bottle full of iron filings, now spread across the floor: it made sparks when you packed it into an explosive. Possibly...it could be somehow...washed?

A tiny brown jar of cochineal - oh, that was expensive, and the only other supply he had was in his paint box upstairs, and the thought of donating that to science was wrenching - mixed with - what _was_ that? he'd had about two ounces of low quality cinnabar. Well, it was all spoiled now.

A covered basket that had been full of rosehips. They were ruined now, but anyway, they were easily replaced.

A large brown jar, shattered to pieces except where the gummed label kept it together.

Oh. No.

Diego's hand shook a little as he lifted the bit of broken glass out of the muck that resulted when you mixed turpentine with powdered bark. _**Cinchona officinalis. **_

Ruined, all of it, he realized with a stab of anguish.

They had kept the precious medicine in a dark jar; in a cool, dry place; on a stabilized shelf; in the most secure room in the house...and a chunk of ceiling had fallen down on it.

If only they had kept it somewhere else, in Diego's room or even three feet to the left. Or if only they had not stored it all in one place. Or if they had stored in a box, rather than a jar. It wouldn't have been as safe from the air, but a box would not have broken.

If only Don Alejandro had never contracted malaria.

"If only" was a complete waste of time. All of the _cinchona _bark was ruined. What they had left was a very small bottle of the tincture, which was not nearly as good and would not last very long.

When the twins had been young they had been sheltered from the ugly truths of their father's illness. Diego had been sixteen before he'd seen his father in the throws of delirium. He had had to buy a medical book in Madrid before he learned just how dangerous - just how _deadly_ -

"Diego?" Footsteps coming down the stairs. "Oh, for pity sake, Diego. You don't stay in a _cave_ after an earthquake. And what are you messing around with by yourself? I smell turpentine. You don't now what it might be reacting with - " 'Berto broke off as Diego lifted his head and met his brother's eyes. "What's happened?"

Diego held out the remains of the _cinchona_ jar. 'Berto lifted the lamp for a better look. His breath caught. "Mother of God, have mercy," he whispered, "all of it?"

Diego couldn't bear the fear in his eyes, so he looked away. "Yes."

'Berto swallowed. "Father may have a supply."

"He may. I doubt it. He thinks it is very dangerous."

"More dangerous not to have it... Damn." He took a deep breath. "Well, we are not cleaning this up today, and you are not staying in this cave. Up." He seized Diego by the upper arm and hauled him to his feet. Too fast: the world spun at once, but Gilberto was still bracing his arm, so Diego ignored the dizziness. Harder to ignore was the headache. It felt like a spike through the middle of his forehead, but that was just from the turpentine. He ignored it as well and let 'Berto lead him up the stairs.

This time the dizziness got worse instead of better. In the daylight of the library, 'Berto glanced at Diego's face and promptly angled him into a chair. "Did you miss a dose?" he asked sternly.

"I do not miss doses."

"Things have been a bit chaotic - "

"For less than an hour. My dose at lunch time - "

Gilberto lifted a hand. "As you say, then." And, more gently, "What do you need?"

"To sit a moment, that's all." Diego took a deep breath. "What is Father doing?"

"Emptying the barns into the different pens and paddocks. Just in case."

Diego's head came up. "So none of the animals are where they should be?"

'No, it's quite a juggle - " and then he saw where the thought led: "Toronado?"

"For a few days, perhaps. I don't like the idea of leaving him alone and tethered below the house like this."

Gilberto shook his head slowly. "Ooooh. I don't know, Little Brother."

"We'd have to put him in with mares. You know his temper."

A short laugh. "Shame it isn't breeding season. What a gift for Father that would be."

"He still might notice, 'Berto. Or Juan might."

"They might identify him...but what of it? So Zorro took his horse out of the barn - everyone will be doing it. And hiding him in plain sight, ah, well...Father hasn't made a secret of whose side he is on."

"Tonight, then - " abruptly the world tilted and swayed and Diego gripped the arms of the chair, trying to fight off the full faint that was descending on him. To his surprise, Gilberto grabbed him by the waist and heaved him to his feet, half-dragging him to the archway between rooms. Gilberto lurched and stumbled, no more steady on his feet than Diego himself.

Which was when Diego realized that it was another quake, and not his illness that made the world tilt and heave.

'Berto shoved him against the inner wall and pinned him in place. Diego could hear teeth grinding in his ear.

And then it was over. The world stilled and the silence stretched out -

And Gilberto was shoving Diego toward the front door, not that Diego needed any urging, but Gilberto wouldn't let go just the same. He only stopped when they were in the front courtyard, where he looked up at the sky and shuddered.

Diego looked at the house, still standing, as it had all is life. He looked over at the barn and the unmoving hills. He looked at 'Berto, pale and in a cold sweat. "You never used to be afraid of earthquakes."

"Yes, well. That was before you made me study engineering."

Father came racing around the house at a dead run. When he caught sight of the twins he stumbled to a halt and stared at them. After a moment he continued across the courtyard more slowly. "All right?" he asked, breathless, looking from one to the other.

Gilberto dropped his eyes and nodded. Diego found himself smiling. "It has been a very interesting day."

Father patted him on the shoulder. "Holding up all right?"

"There are some serious problems we need to deal with, Father. But it could have been much worse."

The quiet was broken by Felipe and Pepe running the long way around the barn. Their knees were covered in grass and mud. "It happened again," Pepe wailed.

Don Alejandro bent down to hug Pepe as though he were a much smaller child, and Diego opened his arms to Felipe. "Yes, sometimes it happens like that, and these were quite strong," Diego said calmly. "However, we are completely safe as long as we are in the open air."

Felipe shoved him back angrily. "_Were_ you in the house?" his agile hands demanded.

Diego sighed. "There were things that had to be checked on. In retrospect, I should have moved a bit more quickly. And no, it's not as bad as what you are thinking." Gilberto had, after all, dragged him out of the cave before the tremor.

"We will all be sleeping outside tonight," Father said. "Bed rolls and camp cooking, like a round-up. We'll make a fiesta of it." He raised his voice. "Juan?"

Juan appeared at once. He was covered with dust and bits of straw and he looked...much older than Diego usually thought of him. But he was a few years older than Father, wasn't he? "Yes, Patron?"

"Have the men butcher a steer. We'll cook out in the air."

Juan brightened. "I think there are some strawberries already. Maybe some early melons?"

"Yes, exactly. The next few days may be a bit...trying, but worrying won't help." He and Juan began to make plans for several days of unusually comfortable camping out.

Diego glanced at them, then said pointedly to 'Berto, "You need to go over the outside of the house courtyards and check for damage."

Gilberto frowned, not understanding. "Father already - "

"Not the northeast side, with all the scrub. And the garden wall, along the ravine - quite a mess if that wall goes. It's rather hard to negotiate, but it _has to be done sometime_."

'Berto considered. "Now? It might be better to wait until evening."

"You have an excuse now," Diego said more quietly. He said, "Tied. Alone. Helpless," with his fingers while saying out loud, "It shouldn't be difficult."

Gilberto rolled his eyes. "You are such a worrier." He raised his voice slightly. "Very well, I'll go check around the side."

"Thank you."

Gilberto went off to see about Toronado.

**Alejandro**

On the path to the paddock, he saw a tall figure coming the other way; Gilberto. He wasn't dressed for working, but his jacket was off and his sleeves were rolled up. As he got closer Alejandro could tell he looked like he'd been dragged backward through a bush. He supposed he didn't look much better himself, none of them had been prepared for today...

"Everything all right up there, Son?" Alejandro asked as he came closer.

He glanced over his shoulder at the corral. "They seem to be all settled in." He stepped to the side, "Want to have a look? I'll walk back up with you?"

Alejandro took a deep breath. He wanted to look at everything at once, speak to everyone, make sure...

Make sure...

But he had been to each corral near the house. He'd sent a messenger up to the vineyard. He'd checked the house and the breeding barn and the sheds...

He glanced past Gilberto up the hill, where he could just make out the fence. Then he glanced at Gilberto. He was unpredictable and moody, but when he took it upon himself to be reliable and competent, he did a very thorough job of it. He sighed. "No. I'm sure it's fine." He turned and allowed Gilberto to come up beside him before starting back toward the makeshift camp Juan was organizing in the field across from the house. "How is Diego holding up?"

Gilberto sorted. "With more grace than I am. He's fine. Earlier, I found him serenely sorting through - " He broke off abruptly.

"'Berto? Something wrong?"

"We lost a shelf full of supplies. Including almost all of the _cinchona_ we had."

"Are you expecting me to be upset? I never liked that Diego was taking it. It's far too dangerous."

Gilberto scowled at him. "Regulating the heart isn't its primary use, Father."

"It's dangerous for the other, too." He shook his head. "I saw things in Panama."

Gilbert stopped him, a hand on his shoulder, his voice very quiet. "There is a shortage in California. It may be months or even years before a shipment arrives. Malaria," his voice tripped over the word, "is fatal more than half the time if it is not properly treated."

Afraid. Gilberto was afraid. He always had been, but _before_, it had fallen to Diego and Felicidad to confront the worst of it. Alejandro sighed. "And will it help to worry about it?"

Gilberto looked mulish.

"Shall we panic, then? Shall we wind Diego and Felipe and Juan and Maria into a frenzy? Nuela always makes quite a scene when she gets upset - "

"Father, you know that's not - "

"There is nothing we can do about it. Nothing. Nothing _I_ can even do to avoid - But, 'Berto, it may not even return this year or next. Or I might be kicked in the head by Spotted Demon tomorrow."

Gilberto clinched his teeth and stared hard at the sky.

"You know I'm right."

"Yes, I know."

"So,_ today_, let's worry about the earthquake."

After a moment, Gilberto took a deep breath and met Alejandro's eyes. "So, how is the line camp coming along?"

Don Alejandro made a point of smiling. "Oh, it looks like no line camp I've ever seen. Juan has...been taken by a fit of enthusiasm. In that little stand of trees he's rigged some tents for the women to have some privacy. He's set up benches, for musicians to sit on later, and left a large space empty for dancing. He really does plan to make a party of it. You should see the size of the steer they are getting ready to roast."

"Well...that's probably best, I suppose. The alternative is just to sit around all night waiting for the ground to shake. Bad enough if it were just the ranch hands, but there will be families." He sighed.

"And tenants. And any of our neighbors who want to join us. Jose Macias sent down his family; a couple of little sinkholes opened up, and he's nervous about the children."

Gilberto cursed softly and crossed himself. "I hadn't heard."

"No, they arrived a few minutes ago. Lost part of the _barn_, if you can imagine it. A hole twelve feet across and about that deep, apparently. He's staying himself to guard the house and the stock, but he doesn't know if the ground is going to open up again, and he has four children now, not one of them actually large enough to be any help."

Gilberto took a deep breath. "And they were doing so well this last year or so."

"They're not doing _badly_. A barn can be replaced..." They were in sight of the camp now. It was busy. Maria, Nuela, and Tomas were setting up a kitchen a few yards from a huge fire that was being prepared for roasting meat. Felipe and a couple other boys were carrying water. Diego...There. Diego was seated on a log, half a dozen very small children clustered around him. He was doing something with his hands, magic tricks perhaps. Alejandro sighed.

"Father?"

"It's not a small thing, when your neighbors send you their children, knowing you will keep them safe."

Gilberto looked up sharply. "I know it, Father! I do understand. I...I am doing my best to live up to the example you set - "

He broke off as Alejandro slowly shook his head. He was not quite certain how to go on - Gilberto's moods shifted like the tides except not so predictably. This boy - this man, his son - needed _something_, comfort or reassurance or guidance or something, but Alejandro could never - quite - envision what. Carefully he said, "I didn't want it, when I was your age. That responsibility, that power." Alejandro looked out across the rolling land, green now, from the fall rains. Green all the way to the mountains. "I didn't want it."

Surprised, Gilberto asked, "Why not?"

"It asks every bit as much as it gives. I saw it as...trap or jail, I suppose. I couldn't be free if I was claimed by...all this. And. Also. I was afraid of it." That earned him a shocked look. "I couldn't possibly be wise enough, kind enough to be responsible for all _this_. How could I? I - Your grandfather didn't understand. He _was_ wise and kind. And very patient, really. But he didn't understand that Alfonso and I didn't see the future he saw." He winced a the memory. "We fought quite a lot."

"What...happened? how did you...?"

Alejandro looked at the camp. Diego appeared to be making flowers appear from thin air. "I grew up. I went to war, and I buried my brother and...I couldn't bear to come home with him gone, so I found a reason to go to Spain instead. I hadn't been since I was a child... I met your mother. _She _believed I was wise and kind! And oh, for her, I wanted to be..."

"So...because you married." He sounded disappointed.

"I can't claim _my_ solutions will work for you, Son. But don't underestimate the power of love. It was fall like this when I brought your mother home for the first time. So beautiful. So perfect. And I was so proud to offer it to her. I wanted to build it into a paradise for her... Your grandfather was getting frail by then, and not long after...Well, nothing quite clarifies your thinking like knowing there is a child coming."

Gilberto clinched his jaw. "An added burden? Well, two, in fact."

"Not at all! It was wonderful. An opportunity. And so was every other responsibility, in its way. Yes, a chance to fail, and some individual ventures _do_ fail, but none of that is final if you don't give up. I'm...explaining it badly."

"No, you are explaining it very well. But the idea...of stepping into your shoes breaks my heart, and the prospect that I may yet become a wise and able hacendado is overshadowed by that. As for the other, the utter unfairness that Diego cannot marry, and therefore I _must_ - "

Alejandro winced. He had hoped that today, perhaps, Gilberto would be in a mood to really listen. Perhaps the earthquake and aftershocks would shake him enough to breach those walls of arrogance and boredom and disinterest and frustration and he could at last be reached. But no.

Some days he was careful and kind, and others he was disinterested or despondent or openly hostile. As much of a trial his arrogance and self-centeredness had been when he was younger, since returning from Madrid - oh, this was much worse.

And yes, obviously, it was Diego's illness that twisted Gilberto so. It must be. The grief and fear and terrible guilt - Alejandro knew what it was to lose a brother, but he could not imagine watching it happen slowly. And Alejandro himself had never relied on Alfonzo the way Gilberto relied on Diego: why learn prudence and strength and humility when Diego (so much like his mother, because, God knew, Diego hadn't gotten his best traits from his father) had more than enough for two?

Alejandro could see that Gilberto was adrift, but he could not guess what it would take to set him right. Sometimes it seemed he almost, _almost_ understood...and then Gilberto would disappear into his room for hours to sulk or pick a fight with his brother or ride out on Viking and come back hours later having accomplished nothing.

"Father," Gilberto said softly. "I do mean to do right by your little empire and all the people that depend on us. I'll do my best for them, I promise."

"I'm not doubting you - "

"You have reason. And I am sorry."

"You're unhappy. You can't apologize for being unhappy. Any more than I could, when I was young."

"No, I'm not. Honestly." He looked earnest, but it must surely be a lie.

Alejandro sighed.

Gilberto smiled a little too broadly. "Listen, we don't have time for all this worrying. There is still work to do here. Have you sent anyone out to the Perot place? That old man lives in such a horrible old shack, I'm sure it's not standing. Why don't I go check?"

What could he say? "It's a good idea." He glanced at the sky. "It will take you about four hours, there and back. An hour after sundown - If you're late, I'm sending out a party."

"Make it five: if I bring him back, he'll be on that little mule of his."

"All right. Be careful."

He watched Gilberto head over to the small corral and then turned to look at the camp across the road. Diego now appeared to be teaching the children sign. He didn't look worried or unhappy at all. He was patient and cheerful...what a father he would have made, if only -

But was it too much to hope for, that he might still recover enough to marry and live a normal life? A year ago, Alejandro would never have dared to think it, but these days...His horrible seizures came only once a week now. He seldom had any difficulty rising in church. He could walk all the way out to the sheep pen without pausing to rest. He worked long hours on that newspaper of his - on Tuesday nights he still missed supper because the typesetting went so slowly - but rather than depleting his strength, Diego's dedication seemed to increase his energy.

Perhaps.

Perhaps even more recovery was possible. Perhaps, given another year...

Alejandro had these thoughts often, and they were so tempting, but Father Benitez was quite clear: Diego might live for years, and more or less comfortably, but he would never be the healthy, energetic young man who left for Madrid. His heart had been injured by his illness two years ago, and it would never recover. Eventually the burdens of functioning damaged would simply be too much. Diego -

It was best to take the days as they came, Alejandro reminded himself. So many of the days were good. Even limited by his illness, Diego was a help and a comfort to the people around him. He didn't complain. He didn't quarrel. Even today, when he might legitimately ask to be cared for, he was distracting the smallest children, charming them with a lesson.

Perhaps -

Sternly turning his mind away from 'perhaps,' Don Alejandro turned and went to meet a rider coming in from the west. It was a young lancer, his hat askew and his horse already in a lather, though the pueblo was only two miles away. The news from town was good. A few sheds had fallen in, and the new extension to his house Senor Estevez was building had slumped and crumbled, but except for minor injuries and broken crockery, the pueblo had come through the earthquake well.

Alejandro glanced at his own house as he made his report to the lancer. Thick walls and timber shoring. It would take a powerful earthquake to bring it down. Which might happen. All he could do now was wait and keep his people comfortable.

Well, if this was going to be a proper party, he should bring out a barrel of wine. Just one; nervous people tended to drink too much, and drunkenness wouldn't be an improvement. Honeycakes might be nice, though. An expensive treat, since his own hives weren't producing much yet, but an excellent idea anyway. Assuming Maria could make cakes over a campfire. Surely she could. She was very talented.

Supper was served just after sundown. Don Alejandro led the prayers, but didn't think he could make himself eat before Gilberto returned. Instead, he walked from one little campfire to another, finding something to say to everyone. No less than four separate times, a small child asked him in sign if he could see a bird. He answered each of them very broadly, saying that, yes, he could see a bird in the tree. The giggles that earned him he credited to Diego.

As soon as Gilberto appeared on the road, Felipe appeared holding out a plate of food and cup of wine. Alejandro almost refused, but Felipe just looked at him patiently. The child was too clever by half...and too used to looking after Diego. He wasn't put off by stubbornness or authority. Alejandro accepted the food and took a spot on a log that had been hastily cleared for him. When Gilberto returned from putting up his horse, Felipe had a plate and cup for him, too. He squatted easily on the ground and stuffed food in his face with all the enthusiasm of someone raised in a barn. Don Alejandro ignored his manners. "So? Old Enrique?"

Gilberto scowled. "He'll lose everything before it's over. The house is already a pile of rubble. A landslide dumped half a hillside into the creek; I think his field will be flooded by this time tomorrow."

"Any chance we could unblock the stream?"

"I'm sure we could." He said around a mouthful, "Given enough men and enough time, no pile of dirt is too big. But we couldn't do it before that crop drowns."

Alejandro sighed. "Why didn't you bring him in?"

"He wouldn't come. Would you, in his place? He's alone in the world, except for his little plot of land."

"Gilberto."

"Was I supposed to kidnap him? We can check on him in a few days, if he doesn't come in to town."

Enrique was old and irascible. He wasn't particularly well liked. Stubborn and hard to work with. A good worker, though. And if he lost that crop, he'd need something to make it through the next year. What could Alejandro hire him to _do_, though, that wouldn't inflict his company on the poor vaqueros and laborers? He needed to look at the ruined field before making up his mind. There was still time to replant and get one crop in before the summer heat came. Maybe the situation wasn't as dire as it sounded.

By the time full dark descended, Juan had lit a string of lanterns and several men had brought out their guitars. Don Alejandro danced with Maria and with Senora Macias and Juan's oldest daughter, Luisa. He judged he had satisfied his duty by then, so he slipped back into the darkness. He moved carefully through the darkness, picking his way among the scattered bedrolls.

He found Diego at the south edge of camp. He was seated on his bedroll, leaning back against a saddle and two pillows, listening to the music. Felipe was curled up beside his hip, fast asleep. It had been a long, hard day, hadn't it? The poor boy must be exhausted. Alejandro squatted down on Diego's other side and motioned for him to keep still.

Diego shook his head. "Never mind an earthquake, he'd sleep through the sky falling," he said softly.

"And how are you?"

"I'm fine, Father. Don't worry."

It was too dark to judge for himself, and he wasn't going to press the issue. "It was a stroke of genius, teaching them sign language."

"That's kind of you to say."

"Perhaps you could teach them to talk about different kinds of food tomorrow. Or stock animals."

Diego shifted. "In the evening," he said. "Before supper. I don't think I'll have a chance before then."

"What were you planning to do with the rest of the day," Alejandro asked, dreading the answer. 

"I should see the damage at the mission for myself," he answered. "And I should ride into town, get descriptions while the memories are fresh."

"For the newspaper."

"Of course, Father."

"Ah, Diego."

"I'll be perfectly safe. I won't go into any buildings, if that is what you are worried about. Not even the newspaper office. I promise."

Alejandro scowled, since in the darkness Diego couldn't see it anyway. "Take your brother and Felipe with you. No arguments."

"You may need Gilberto here."

"No arguments and no clever persuasion."

Diego paused but conceded, "As you wish, Father."

~TBC


	2. October 19, 1814

**October 19, 1814**

**Gilberto**

He woke feeling almost himself. It was the first decent night's sleep since they had moved back into the house on Sunday. During the day there was enough work to keep him from dwelling on thoughts of ceilings and walls crumbling. At night; though, lying still with nothing to distract him, it was unbearable. He'd spent most of the nights riding up and down the Kings Road as Zorro, not looking for anything in particular and not bothering to pester the lancers. He was just desperate to get out of his bed.

After several days with no tremors he was starting to trust the ground beneath his feet. He rose and dressed and went to breakfast. Diego was already long gone, of course: it was Wednesday.

"Are you coming in to town?" Father asked as he sat down.

"Oh, yes. I wouldn't miss it. Newspaper day."

"You've been looking a little peaked."

Gilberto snuck a glance through his eyelashes. Father's face didn't give anything away. Gilberto wondered what to say: he couldn't admit Zorro's activity...and he didn't want to admit to his own weakness. "We've been a little busy. All the excitement."

Was that flicker of eyes disappointment? "If something is bothering you, I hope you know you can talk to me."

"Father." Gilberto felt his tongue stumble slightly. "I'm fine."

"Of course you are. Still..." Father glanced casually at his breakfast and spread butter thickly on a slice of bread. "Diego mentioned you were a bit unsettled by the earthquake."

"_Did_ he?" Dirty, interfering _rat._ "Don't take it too seriously. You know how he worries. About everything. No one likes tremors."

"No. But most people haven't been caught in a mine collapse."

Gilberto froze, his chocolate cup halfway to his mouth. "I...I hardly think - "

"It wouldn't be," he paused, eyed Gilberto thoughtfully, "remarkable."

"What do you want me to say?"

"Nothing. I was going to offer...If you feel uncomfortable here in adobe, I could send you out to one of the line shacks. The one on the ridge is log construction. I was planning to send Alonzo, but you could do the work as well and it would get you away from the house for a month."

Oh, wouldn't that be a disaster. Away for a month! What were the odds that an entire month would go by without the pueblo needing Zorro? "Father I admit - " he began quickly. "That is to say, the tremors do make me nervous. Certainly. But it's passing now. And I'd worry if I were gone that long."

"It's up to you. I only want you to understand..."

"You're very good to us," Gilberto said, hoping the conversation would end.

Father looked at him oddly, but turned his attention back to his breakfast.

Z

Market day was more crowded than usual, although there weren't as many merchants. The people who did man stalls and carts looked weary and nervous.

There were other signs, too, of the recent difficulties. Lancers were rebuilding one of the cuartel's outer walls. There was a huge crack, too, in the side of the smithy, and Gilberto couldn't imagine why they hadn't started repairs yet.

He and Father tied their horses and headed into the tavern, where they found Diego and Felipe. They were bedraggled and ink-stained, but that was usual for newspaper day. Diego smiled tiredly and passed them copies of _The Guardian_ as they sat down. In a few minutes, Victoria came with orange juice.

Most of the articles were about the tremors, of course. One person had been badly injured when a grainery collapsed at the mission, but Gilberto (and everyone else) had already known that. There was a birth announcement. And a long food article on the culinary applications of different varieties of beans. It was very bluntly written, of course, and didn't use the words 'culinary' or 'varieties,' but still, it was knowledgeable. The author wasn't named, but he appeared to have given a lot of systematic thought to bean recipes.

"You're mocking me," Diego muttered.

Pretending confusion and affront, Gilberto looked up. "I'm not. I'm reading the newspaper!"

"Very carefully, considering there is nothing in it you didn't already know."

Gilberto shrugged with careful indifference. "This editorial reads like an engineering lecture - "

Diego began to sputter about shortcuts and thin adobe walls.

"It's very dull. And where is that woman who gives advice on affairs of the heart? She's amusing. You should include her every week. Also, this advertisement for the blacksmith, it has a misspelling. And why is he advertising? The only competition is at the mission, unless you want to ride to San Diego or San Juan Capistrano. Or Santa Barbara, but that one isn't any good - "

Diego growled, "He _wanted_ an advertisement, and why shouldn't he have one? And it is not a typo, the ink has smudged."

"If you say so."

Which, as intended, offended Diego. Before he could retort, however, Father rapped his knuckles on the table. With a mutinous look, Diego subsided. Pretending to read the newspaper (shaking his head and tisking occasionally in overt disappointment) Gilberto studied his brother. He was tired and his hands were more or less black with ink, but he was breathing normally and his color was good. As hard as he worked at the newspaper, it didn't seem to be hurting his health at all.

Z

On the porch of the tavern Don Alejandro asked, "Does anyone need to do any shopping?"

Diego patted Felipe's shoulder. "This one needs a new hat. And if I'm going to drag him across the territory for the newspaper he'll need a sturdy pair of boots."

Felipe protested. Diego waved him off. "It was different when I was staying close to home. Or when you were just riding for fun around the ranch or carrying messages during the - " he broke off frowning. "You aren't a child any more. Your duties - "

He was staring at something over Felipe's head. Gilberto followed his gaze and found himself frowning, too. Sergeant Mendoza was talking to a couple of very oddly dressed people. It was a man and a women in dark clothing. The woman had a thin scarf twined around her head and shoulders. They were so unadorned - somber, even - that it seemed they might be in mourning.

Mendoza, looking confused, wandered away toward the cuartel. Father considered them for a moment, glanced at Mendoza's retreating back, and then strolled over to the couple. The wagon they stood next to was large if not particularly new. It was pulled by two good horses. A small face was peeking over the side of the wagon box.

Politely, Father said, "Good morning. Welcome to the village of Our Lady, Queen of the Angels."

The man - bearded, tall - shifted a bit uncertainly. "Good morning," he said. He spoke Spanish with a Russian accent, and the sound of it made Gilberto ache suddenly with a kind of homesickness for Madrid. Master Nurgaliyev, a botanist at the university, had been a good friend to both of the twins. Gilberto had gone gaming with him more than once, switching back and forth from English to Russian...

Father made introductions. The stranger smiled faintly. "It is my great pleasure. I am Daniil Ivanovich Nielson. My wife, Oksana Federovna; my son, Anton."

Nielson was obviously not a Russian name. German or Norwegian, probably, but Europe was much smaller than the New World, and any number of wars had pushed people back and forth for hundreds of years. "Are you in Los Angeles to trade?" Gilberto asked. The Russian fort north of San Francisco occasionally sent a boat down to trade for grain at the mission.

"No, we intend to settle in California. We have heard it is a land of freedom and opportunity."

Father was thoroughly baffled by this. "You've come to California? For freedom?"

"Compared to the Russian Empire," Diego murmured. "They may well have."

"Yes, but," Father was openly staring. He was more confused than Gilberto had ever seen him. "For a foreigner to live in Spanish Territory - "

Senor Nielson smiled at this. "The permissions were taken care of when we purchased the farm. The Luis Ramone Land Office."

Luis Ramone _Land Office_?

Land Office? Land Office. He was selling bits of Los Angeles to Russians. No, that made no sense. Why would Russians buy it? Russians wanted to settle higgaldy piggaldy half-way down Alta California? Since when? The colony they _had_ was absurdly small and under-manned. Most of their women were natives, apparently, the Russian version of Neophyte. They didn't have the population to expand. Except here was Senor and Senora Nielson, buying land from the alcalde, abandoning the Russian encampments in the north and seeking "freedom?"

It was absurd. If Gilberto looked at Diego he would burst out laughing. Instead, he said tentatively, "You cannot be seeking democracy, not here - Spain also has a king. Is it religious freedom you are looking for?" That was hardly less unlikely.

Senor Nielson's eyes lit up with interest. "It is similar in many respects, but our aristocracy is much - " he began in Russian, but switched back to careful Spanish. "Forgive me." He paused, frowning. "Yes. We are seeking Religious freedom. We have been persecuted...the Orthodox authorities..."

It only got more astonishing. Who could the Orthodox authorities persecute; wasn't _everyone_ Orthodox? Gilberto's breath caught. Could Russians be atheist? He hadn't heard of it. Or perhaps they were Protestant. Did they even _have_ Protestants there? Or -

Schismatics_._ What was the word?_ Roskolniki_? Gilberto had heard - something - about them. 'Old Believers.' It had never crossed his mind that he might meet one.

Before he could formulate another question - how did you ask what sort of heretic a person was without insulting them? And he did not want to offend these Russians - Mendoza re-appeared with the alcalde. "Ah, Señor Nielson. We have been waiting for you, you lucky man! You are to receive forty acres of rich California farmland." The smiling alcalde handed him a scroll.

As Senor Nielson unrolled it, Diego leaned sideways to see over his shoulder. "'Table of the Rocks,'" he announced.

This was nasty, even for Ramone. Table of Rocks was north and slightly west of the Macias place, but not nearly as well endowed. It was flat, but barren. It had no water, and while only a mile from a good creek on de le Vega land, it was well uphill of it. The Martinez family, unable to raise enough of a crop to put food on the table, let alone pay their taxes, had abandoned it before Gilberto had returned from Madrid.

Father turned on the alcalde. "You can't be serious," he said.

Ramone smiled blandly. "The sale is quite legal, I assure you."

"It is a desert. Even in the winter nothing grows there."

The Russian only nodded thoughtfully. "Nothing grows without hard work."

"Ah, how very true, Señor Nielson," Ramone answered. "Forty acres and no other guarantees implied or inferred. Notice clause seven: no refunds. Welcome to Los Angeles." He nodded and turned on his heel.

Senor Nielson opened his mouth and then shut it. "Ah. I would ask - where to find it..." The alcalde was already gone, but Mendoza - looking both embarrassed and sympathetic - cleared his throat. "We have not sent a patrol that way in a while. I suppose I could send a couple of men...after all..."

Father scowled at him, although it wouldn't be Mendoza he was annoyed with. "Never mind, Sergeant. They are our neighbors, more or less. I will ride out with them."

"Certainly," Diego said.

"Not you. I know how late you came in last night. Order Felipe's boots and then head home."

Gilberto leaned over to whisper into his ear, "Don't pout, Diego. It's not becoming. I will tell you all about it. Later."

Coolly, Diego turned his head. "And perhaps you'll tell me why you've been a twit all morning."

"I doubt it. I'll probably be over it by then. I may be moody and _afraid of earthquakes_, but at least I don't hold grudges."

Diego blinked. "You _do_ hold grudges," he answered calmly. "And you had been acting oddly for days. More oddly than usual. I needed to tell Father something. There was no harm in the truth."

Gilberto gave him a dark look: there was, in fact, great harm in the truth. That was why they kept so much of it to themselves.

Diego rolled his eyes, answering the unspoken observation. "But not this one. Father was very reasonable about it." As though having this discussed wasn't thoroughly humiliating. As though it were nothing.

While Gilberto was still deciding what to answer, Father thumped him casually across the shoulder, "If you are done with whatever you're fighting about this time, I'd like to get a move on. I'm sure the Nielson's will want as much time as possible to set up camp before the sun sets."

Composing his expression to the model of reasonableness, Gilberto turned his back on Diego and followed Father to the horses.

**Felipe**

Diego had waited until Felipe was in a public place (and couldn't argue) to mention the boots. He'd been right in thinking Felipe wouldn't want them: at the very least boots would be hot and heavy and they might pinch, too. They would surely be stiff until they were broken in. Felipe wasn't a vaquero or a gentlemen; what did he need boots for? Even the town boys his own age didn't have boots -

Actually...that was an interesting thought. Eugenio _didn't_ have boots. Or the blacksmith's son. Or even Pablo and Bernardo (their family ran the drayage out of San Pedro, and they were quite wealthy), only their older brother Manuel, who enjoyed being so grown up and showing off...

Well. Felipe had serious responsibilities now, didn't he? Looking after Diego was important, and he'd been very satisfied with that. The other boys thought Felipe very well treated - almost spoiled, even - by the de le Vegas, considering that he was, after all, a nobody with no family of his own. It was easy enough to ignore Eugenio being obnoxious when there was nothing else to do about it.

But in the last month or so things had changed. Helping collect information for the newspaper, that was man's work, adult responsibility (even if no one had ever heard of it before). It was more interesting than sweeping out the store and making change all day. Or carrying errands while waiting to be big enough to work the smithy. Or even training horses for harness.

Following Diego across the plaza, Felipe, distracted, bumped into a fruit cart. He waved an apology and hurried to catch up. He lifted his chin and made a point of looking casual. Being fitted for boots was...just a necessity. Oh, yes. After all, while he wasn't a fine gentleman or a cowboy, he also wasn't a laborer or a peasant. He was - actually, that wasn't clear. What was he?

Don Alejandro listed his position in the ledger as 'companion,' not 'houseboy.' Diego thought of him as his child. What Felipe _did_ for the paper, laying out type and riding up and down the valley so Diego could talk to people for stories, that would be apprentice work...if Diego had known enough about the job to have 'apprentices.' And the other, looking after Diego at home and watching to make sure he was keeping proper and safe count of the medicine, that was nurse's work...

Well, no, Felipe had no idea _what_ he was, really, or where he fit either in town or at home. But he would take the boots and wear them sometimes. Eugenio would have a fit and the other boys, well, they would know that Felipe wasn't _quite_ a child like them any more.

He sat still while his feet were measured and then didn't give Diego a hard time about the new hat.

"You're very quiet," Diego said when they'd left Los Angeles behind them.

Felipe shrugged, because that was true.

"Are you going to make me suffer for it later?"

Felipe considered that. In fact, it might be fun to tease Diego later. Innocently, he asked, "For what?"

Diego sighed. "I realize it was heavy handed - "

If Diego was going to be reasonable, there was no way to tease him. "It was very thoughtful," Felipe said. "You are very generous."

Diego snorted. "I am very selfish. I never asked if you wanted to work on the newspaper."

Felipe had to laugh at that. "No one asked _you_, either."

"Strictly speaking...that's true. But..."

"It needs to be done, and you are the best man to do it." Felipe shrugged. "I was thinking that responsibility isn't so bad."

Diego was silent for a moment. "Responsibility." He rolled the word over his tongue, as though he were saying it for the first time. "I think it was a good issue this time."

Felipe wrinkled his nose. "People seem to like talking about the earthquake. I would rather not think about it."

"Ha. Well. Hopefully next week we will have to search very diligently to even _find_ a story."

"What about the newcomers? What is the word - _aliens_?"

"_Immigrants_. I wonder if they are the first of many. Heaven knows, Spaniards aren't lined up to come here. Father expected a much larger colony by now... The United States is very diverse - many different nationalities and religions. I wonder if it would work for us. Can you really run a country with many nations together? I just don't know. As far as the paper is concerned, I'm sure the Nielsens are very interesting...but I don't think I'll bother them yet."

When they got home, Diego went to lie down. They hadn't gotten home until after supper the night before, and they'd had to open the newspaper office before dawn for the print run.

**Alejandro **

Gilberto, riding beside the wagon, seemed completely absorbed by his conversation with the Russians. He alternated descriptions of the local geography and history with eager questions about Russia and the Fort Ross colony. It was a good thing he was holding up the conversation, because Alejandro was too busy cataloging the alcalde's crimes and personality defects to hold a polite conversation. Swindling foreigners - what? By _mail_? Some odd advertisement? - was a new low for him. There was no dignity in this petty crime.

Not that there was dignity in his sadism. Or his exploitation of the poor. Or his incompetent leadership of the garrison. Or his pathetic social climbing. Or his assault on civil liberties.

Luis Ramone gave greed and ambition a bad name on his best day. But today...

Alejandro found he was actually embarrassed on behalf of Los Angeles. Or perhaps on behalf of Spain herself.

But detailing the scale of the crime before they could see the 'farm' for themselves wouldn't do the Nielson's any kindness, so he kept his mouth shut as they rode: first north on the kings road (within sight of his own home) until they came to a wagon track that served as the boundary between De le Vega farmland and the San Gabriel mission. After a couple of miles more, the wagon track crossed a little stony creek, flush and full this time of year. The west bank was mission land, the east bank was De le Vega land - specifically Diego's. Felicidad had bought the parcel years ago and planted it in olive trees. There was a small walnut orchard half-way up a mountain that belonged to Gilberto which had come in the same way. Neither was bearing, yet, and wouldn't for several more years.

The wagon track veered to the east and then rose sharply to a large, flat bench. This was Table of Rocks. It was stark; the soil was thin and stony and cut with shallow ruts where the winter rains quickly washed away. If anything, it was worse than Alejandro remembered. He bit back a tirade about Ramone's perfidy.

There were only a few improvements to the property: A barn, the roof fallen in. The tiny house, only two rooms and one of the walls cracked, possibly from the earthquake. While Alejandro counted up the problems in his head, though, the Russians had climbed down from the wagon and started dancing around celebrating. They were laughing and shouting in Russian.

"This land isn't suitable for raising chickens, much less farming," Gilberto protested.

Senor Nielson turned to him. "_Gospodin_, nothing grows without - "

"Yes, nothing grows without hard work. So you said. But even if..." he sighed and threw up his hands. Gilberto never did have much tolerance for stupidity.

"We can get a lawyer," Alejandro said, "get your money back. Find you something better, there's no shortage of land."

He shook his head. "Thank you, but no. This is where God has led us and here we will stay."

Alejandro sighed. "You have seed, I suppose?"

"Oh, yes. We are prepared to start a crop at once. We were told that this is the time of year to plant. And your son assures us that it will not snow," he chuckled. "As strange as it seems. I do - Forgive my ignorance...but I must ask, how do you build without trees? I admit..." He gestured helplessly at the doorless shell that was the little house. "It looks as though it is made of mud! And the towns and missions we have passed. Mud? It cannot be possible!"

Alejandro had to smile at that. "It really is mud, but there is a trick to it." He talked about mixing the mud and molding it and how long it had to dry, and then, once you had done all that, how to build. "All the rain we get this time of year, I'd wait for spring to try to do any major construction. You'll want to repair the roof on that barn so you'll have good shelter before February, but there is plenty of time for that. And then next year you can get the house in shape."

Except they could hardly be here next spring, could they? They had no family in the area. Who would carry them through when the first crop failed? The enterprise was doomed, and no amount of optimism and charming earnestness could change that.

As angry as he was at the blatant swindle, stubbornness and stupidity weren't commendable traits either. He found himself wanting to shake some sense into the man, but he managed to keep his mouth shut until he and Gilberto were riding away.

Then he ruminated about the blatant stupidity and pointless stubbornness in detail, only turning aside once in a while to enumerate Luis Ramone's faults. It wasn't until they had crossed the shallow stream that he paused and glanced at 'Berto, whose eyes had glazed over.

For a minute or so, the only sound was the thump of the horses hooves, and then Gilberto said distantly, "All the ruts where the water ran off go in the same direction."

It was such a (silly) non sequitur that a short, sharp laugh escaped Alejandro. Gilberto appeared not to notice. "When I was a little boy, that table was pasture land. Not the best, but grass grew there. It was only when Al Martinez plowed it that the topsoil started to wash away..."

"Yes, I suppose that's true," Alejandro conceded. "It's also too dry most of the year, and the soil is very rocky and - "

Absently, Gilberto interrupted him. "If you plowed in the other direction, it might slow down the erosion. But it's still too dry...you're right. If they could keep some of that winter rain - ditches? A pond? That might help. I don't know."

"You can't be seriously thinking of ways to make that into a real farm," Alejandro said.

Again, Gilberto didn't seem to take any notice of common sense. "The groundwater is very deep out here. It would be horrendous trying to dig a well and bring the water up everyday. You could run an irrigation ditch from the creek, but there is_ still_ the problem of getting it uphill." He sighed. "It all comes down to elevation, I suppose. Say, the wind seemed fairly steady, didn't it? You might be able to run a pump off a windmill. It isn't usually done...Diego would know. I should bring him out here and let him take a look."

There was no answer to that. Bemused, Alejandro didn't try.

It was late in the day when they finally reached home. Diego was seated on the patio with a lapdesk, carefully circling typesetting errors in the newspaper. He was smiling faintly, and watching him, Alejandro found himself smiling as well. If this was to be Diego's life...

It wasn't what any of them had expected, true. But perhaps the role of publisher suited Diego better than rancher did.

As for himself -

It occurred to Alejandro that between Diego's health problems and the stinking morass that served for pueblo politics these days, it had been literally several years since he had paid proper attention to the ranch.

But The Queen of the Angles was holding her own against Luis Ramone. And Diego was holding his own now, too. Alejandro should ride up to the vineyard; this early in the season, there shouldn't have been too much damage from the quake, but he should see for himself. That would take a day and a half. And he hadn't laid eyes on the peach orchard in over a year. In another two, those trees should be old enough to bear. And then there were the cattle he wanted to pasture out at Deer Canyon. He'd been meaning to move a herd down there for going on three weeks, but matters in town and at home always seemed to press in. Part of the problem was he'd need to hire a few more men and keep a crew of two out there to watch them. Well. He could delegate that to Gilberto.

He left Diego with his newspaper and got back to work.

~tbc


	3. October 20, 1814

**October 20, 1814**

**Felipe**

Diego was busy enough, tired enough,_burdened_ enough, without Gilberto dragging him out on pointless errands to visit neighbors. He had met them yesterday, for pity's sake. And the foreigners weren't that interesting. Even when they spoke Spanish, their accent was so bad that only one word in five made any sense.

Diego seemed content to make the trip, though. He looked around as though the rutted, barren ground was, in fact, very interesting. He talked with Senor Nielson very seriously, occasionally consulting a little translation dictionary Senor Nielson had or asking Gilberto for a word...

It was all very boring, actually.

The boy, Anton, and his mother were occupied with cleaning the broken bits of old roof out of the barn, which would have to be their home for a while. Felipe gathered that they thought the house was unstable. With the size of that crack, they were probably right. Al Martinez was a hard worker, but he wasn't very bright and was too stubborn to take advice.

Of course, if he'd had any sense, he'd have picked a better farm in the first place. His farm had failed, and the alcalde had seized the property for taxes...

Sighing to himself, Felipe pitched in and helped sort the remains of the roof: beams large enough to be used again, bits good only for kindling. When the morning started to grow warm, Gilberto appeared, producing several small oranges from his saddlebag. He tossed one to Felipe and held out the other to the Russian boy. He said something that sounded like "Mushna?" to his mother.

Her answer - Felipe couldn't even begin to guess which language it was in. But Gilberto answered with a word that sounded a lot like fruit and demonstrated how to peel it.

The oranges were a tremendous success with the Nielson family. Felipe thought they were rather silly: oranges wouldn't solve their problems, after all. And their problems were legion.

On the way back Gilberto and Diego chewed over strategies for turning the wasteland into a great plantation. The first step was planting, naturally - it was already a couple of weeks late for getting the winter crop in. A few low-lying areas (such as there were) would be further dug out for water retention, the gathered dirt moved to the south side of the property, where a sharp drop carried away so much water runoff and soil. It would be time-consuming, bitter work, but while the crop was growing, there would be time. Also, though, a good roof would have to go onto the barn before the February rains hit. And then there was the matter of a well: they would need one before summer.

tbc~


	4. October 25, 1814

**October 25, 1814**

**Felipe**

There was a trick of looking at the letters you were dropping into place without really looking at where they were going; the plates were backwards, of course, and if you let it sink in past your eyes, the text would swirl, the lay out would dance wildly in your mind, and you would have to stop and breathe and remember what you were doing (and forget that it was backward) before you could pick up again.

Nicholas was already faster at typesetting than Felipe. Like a man in a trance he flipped letters into place with a regular 'tap, tap, tap,' that Felipe envied. But both of the boys were faster then Diego, who was older and had much larger hands. Strength counted for nothing when you were flipping letters into place.

Felipe realized he had just dropped in a 'T' upside down and nudged it back out.

The door to the newspaper office opened. Startled, they all looked up. In the doorway was a pale, middle-aged man with thinning hair. His clothes weren't new or heavily decorated, but they were well made and clean. He glanced around the room and settled on Diego. "Senor De le Vega?" he asked politely.

Diego straightened and wiped his hands on a rag. "How can I help you?"

"I'm Professor Wayne. I'm told the newspaper is published tomorrow." Despite his foreign name, his Spanish was fluid and without accent. "Is it too late to purchase an advertisement?"

Diego brightened at once. The paper was, in fact, running a little short. Father Benitez had been planning to write a short article - hopefully to become a column - on herbal remedies for common afflictions, but he had been called to a bedside in San Pedro Sunday evening and hadn't had time to finish. "What was it you wanted?" Diego asked.

Wayne held out a scrap of paper. Diego read aloud. "Professor Henry Wayne: Inventor. Sundries, solutions, and simple mechanisms." He looked up inquiringly. "Inventor?"

The stranger smiled. "Traveling inventor, at the moment. I decided to spend a couple of years seeing the world."

"Amazing," Diego laughed, "Well, you have come to the end of it!"

Professor Wayne laughed, too. "You may be right. California certainly looks like paradise to me."

"You've come at a good time of year. The weather is very mild at the end of the world in winter. Are you staying long?"

He shrugged. "A week or two, perhaps, if I get a commission."

Diego glanced again at the strip of paper and quoted a price for the advertisement.

Wayne blinked. "Very reasonable."

Diego smiled wryly. "Well. Our circulation is less than sixty."

Professor Wayne didn't smile back. He looked a little awed. "Marvelous. It _is_ the end of the world. Even with large families, the population..."

Diego nodded. "A little over seven hundred, not counting the mission."

"And to the east, a thousand miles of wilderness!"

"If you mean, it has no roads or cities or a market for newspapers, then yes, it us a wilderness. The end of the world. Or the beginning."

Professor Wayne smiled slowly. "Marvelous."

"I'd love to talk, but we have to get the next addition laid out today - "

"Of course, of course. Perhaps I'll see you tomorrow at the market." Professor Wayne took his leave, and Diego gave Felipe the advertisement, exchanging it for a very short poem he had been planning to use to fill the space at the bottom of the page.

After that, they made much faster progress with the layout. It was still past suppertime when they finished, but not _much_ past suppertime. They headed home in the dark. Usually it was a short, pleasant trip, but about half a mile from town, Esperanza (no Toronado, after all) misstepped in a new rain-rut and lost her shoe, splitting the hoof as well. Looking her over, Diego decided it would be unkind to ride her.

Felipe was tempted to race ahead and get a fresh mount, but Sunshine was also no Toronado, and there was a limit to how fast he could go. Besides which, he didn't like the idea of leaving Diego alone and on foot at night. He offered Diego Sunshine, but Diego was too heavy for him, and his feet would nearly drag the ground.

So they walked home. It was slow going. Felipe led the two horses while Diego walked ahead. Five times they stopped to rest, each break longer than the one before. Diego's pulse was fast and weak, but not frantic or uneven, a fact Felipe clung to. The situation was not ideal, certainly, but it wasn't deadly. Diego would be fine...

Just when the lights of the house were visible, twinkling in the distance, it started to rain.

There was no question of running. Diego only _just_ had the wind to walk. His hands full of reins, Felipe couldn't curse, and that was just as well. They plodded onward.

Diego, the idiot, tried to angle toward the barn. Perhaps he had in mind to put the horses up. Felipe shoved him toward the house before Sunshine and Esperanza, delighted to be home, pulled him away.

Tomas was dozing in the corner. He clucked and muttered over the damaged hoof before taking charge of the horses and refusing help and sending Felipe firmly to the house.

Felipe found Diego in the library, seated with his feat up, enveloped by at least three blankets. His soaking clothes were in a heap on the floor. Don Alejandro was sitting just beside him and Gilberto was building up the fire. No one was saying anything.

Felipe squatted down and collected the wet clothing. Without looking away from Diego's hand - he had it clinched between his own as though he were afraid it would fall off - Don Alejandro said, "Change your clothing and come back." He might be angry, Felipe couldn't tell. He ran to obey.

It was only a few minutes later that he returned to the library, but the silence had already given way to a quarrel: " - had just stayed in town, it could have been avoided," Gilberto was saying. "And I don't see why you won't! It isn't as though we can't afford a night at the tavern."

"Bad enough I disrupt our household when I'm ill. There are usually guests at the tavern, they surely should be spared the inconvenience."

Gilberto strode forward and looked over him. "The tavern guests? It's Senorita Escalante you don't want to 'inconvenience.' This is about your pride!"

Don Alejandro lifted a hand. "That will do," he said quietly.

"He's being stupid - " Gilberto protested. At his father's hard look, though, he trailed off. In the unhappy quiet that followed, Felipe studied Diego. He was exhausted and taking extra breaths, but his eyes were alert and his color wasn't bad.

"Stand there where I can see you and tell me what happened tonight."

Felipe winced inwardly. Don Alejandro was checking Diego's story. But there was an agreement between the three of them: they lied and misdirected to conceal Zorro, but other than that, no outright falsehoods. He would have to rely on that. He explained about Esperanza's hoof and the rain. He apologized for not knowing better what to do. He was starting to ramble when Don Alejandro cut him off with an impatient frown.

"Father, you cannot blame Felipe because we got caught in the rain," Diego began.

Maria appeared then, with hot tea. She filled little cups for all of them, a process that seemed to take unusually long and was - possibly - a tactic on her part to give Don Alejandro time to consider his temper.

When she withdrew, Don Alejandro said, "If my son wants to sleep in his own home, in his own bed, I am certainly not going to prevent it. However. In the future you will be properly escorted on Tuesday nights."

Diego looked affronted. "Father! You can't mean me to have a chaperone."

"You have nothing to complain about. If _I_ go out at night, I take at least one of the men with me." That was usually true. "Ramone usually travels with two lancers behind him. Don Roberto takes that kid with him, the one that always won the foot races on the Day of the Dead. You will have a proper escort, and why not?"

Snidely, Gilberto said, "I'm sure it's only until you can manage to get the paper laid out by supper time. That should take only a few years. At most."

"Not another word out of either of you. Felipe, it's time to put Diego to bed."

tbc~


	5. October 26, 1814

_I suppose I should make the disclaimer once in a while, although everyone knows that this is fanfiction, I don't claim any kind of ownership, and there is no tangible compensation. This is a hobby. I write for fun. I am very grateful to J M and to Zorro Production and to all the actors and writers and everyone who made the originals possible. _

**October 26, 1814**

**Alejandro**

He woke three times during the night, afraid that the evening's exertions would have terrible consequences for Diego. Each time he went to look, though, Diego was sleeping peacefully with the window tightly closed.

The third time he woke it was only a couple of hours before sunrise. Instead of going back to sleep, he dressed in old clothing and went to the kitchen. Maria jumped a bit at the sight of him, then glanced unhappily at the breakfast she was preparing and dropped her eyes.

"Never mind," he said. "I'll take whatever you were making for Diego and Felipe - When Felipe comes in, tell him he's not to wake Diego. I'll unlock the newspaper office."

"Of course, Patron," she murmured. She reached to gather up the dishes she had set on the kitchen table: hard-cooked eggs, sliced fruit, hard sausage, yesterday's bread, and honey. He waved her away and sat down. "But if you would like something else...Don Diego prefers things he can eat quickly on market day, but I - "

"This is plenty of food, Maria, don't give it another thought." He began to fill his plate while she turned back to the stove. She was still looking unhappy when she brought over a cup of chocolate.

Alejandro coaxed gently. "Maria, it is breakfast, not a tragedy. This is fine."

She grimaced. "No, another problem, Patron. The chocolate. There is enough left for two days, and then that is the end. I kept hoping I could find some more... No one has any to sell. Everyone has run out..."

Alejandro looked down at the fragrant cup. The welling anger he felt was dim and blunted and not directed at all at poor Maria. She had no doubt done her best to make sure the family wouldn't notice the shortage. But chocolate was imported and the ships weren't coming.

Oh, illegal trade, from Russia or the United States or England, those ships came. But Spain - who could be bothered to forbid doing business with foreigners - could not be bothered to send more than one or two ships a year, and those haphazardly loaded with goods and supplies. Yes, smuggling did alleviate some of the shortages, but not all of them. And it wasn't only luxuries like Chocolate that were missing from the shelves.

He could have understood this neglect if Alta California was a failing colony, but it was very profitable. The last Spanish ship that had come had left with its holds bursting with grain and oranges and soap. Right now the curing houses were full of hides...hides Spain might not even bother to buy.

Alejandro smiled at Maria and told her not to worry about it. "I hear people can survive drinking tea for breakfast," he joked. Though he had lost most of his appetite, he cleaned his plate appreciatively before hurrying out.

Pepe had saddled Sunshine and Andromeda, since he'd been expecting Diego and Felipe to be the first ones out. Andromeda was energetic, but she lacked spirit, so she was not at all his favorite. The boy offered to get Dulcinea, but since he was only going to town, Alejandro waved him off and took the placid mare.

Last month, when Diego had first started the paper, Don Alejandro had worked the press himself. He had given that up after the first issue: he didn't have the time. It was just as well...his shoulders had ached for three days after that arduous morning. An unwelcome reminder he was getting old.

The blacksmith's apprentice ran the press now. Diego paid him fifty centavos for those two hours' work, which was almost half the income the paper brought in. The rest of the meager 'profits' went to pay the boy who did most of the typesetting. Diego had no salary himself and there was nothing toward the rent, but what business didn't lose money at first? It was important Diego had skilled and cooperative people working for him. There would probably be days when he relied heavily on his employees...

That was an unhappy thought, so Alejandro banished it in favor of something more useful: what to do about Diego's long trips home on Tuesday nights. True, the work would get faster as they had more practice...but some days a story might surface late in the afternoon, and he would still be working late.

If he wouldn't stay in the tavern, the obvious alternative was to build him a house in town. It was an affectation Alejandro had resisted, but it was hardly unheard of. The Pascal family had one. And Roberto Segovia. Even Arturo Toxo kept a very small house on the edge of town. With the De le Vega home only a couple of miles a way, though, there had been no point...

But really, Alejandro thought, looking at the growing little pueblo, he _needed_ two houses. Had he been planning to leave the _one_ he had to both of the twins? Oh, yes, there was property in Spain, but that hardly helped matters here. As close as the boys were, they would eventually need separate homes. Surely.

He refused to count up the odds against Diego outliving him. No, he would not _plan_ for his son's early death and assume it was a fact and not give the matter any more thought. No indeed. He would make his plans as though Diego would live and prosper and even have a family of his own someday. Why not? It wouldn't hurt anyone.

So. A house. Alejandro could easily afford it, and he knew the perfect spot. On the southwest side of town, not too close to the creek (which tended to flood and dry up by turns), overlooking the orange grove. He'd have to buy the land from old Don Roberto, but that shouldn't be a problem when he explained why he wanted it. And since he was going to the trouble of building a house, it might as well be large enough to hold a party in, with enough bedrooms to keep guests comfortably...

Two stories would be ideal, but the earthquake had made him wary. Timber shoring would go a long way to solving that problem, though. The tavern and the cuartel had both survived the last earthquake very well, so good construction was more than worth the investment. Ah: Diego would probably want to supervise the work himself, and that would be a help, since Alejandro really didn't have time... Yes, and it would be yet something else to keep the boy in town and standing still, rather than helping with the ranch.

And when the house was done he could close up the newspaper office and spend the night in his own bed.

The plan was perfect. He dwelled on its perfection while opening up the newspaper office and lighting the lamps. The mission boy Nicholas and the blacksmith's apprentice appeared immediately. They knew their work better than Alejandro did, of course, so he let them get started, contributing by retrieving and stacking the finished pages. Diego's young 'staff' kept giving him odd looks from under their lowered eyes, but Alejandro was too busy thinking about the town house to pay much notice.

In less than two hours they had finished the print run. Diego and Felipe arrived just as they took the last sheet off the press. Diego seemed to be quite well, except for being slightly put out about being left to sleep in. Alejandro greeted them briefly and hurried away. He wanted another look at that house site.

In the square he paused to look around. Besides the usual venders - potters and woodworkers, the cloth and dye man, the glover, the candlemaker - was a large, brightly colored caravan. A man stood in the back of it, selling some kind of gadgets. Alejandro wasn't quite curious enough to wander over, but he caught sight of Carlos in the crowd. He slid silently up beside him and muttered a greeting.

Carlos grinned and brandished some kind of mechanical_ thing _about as long as his forearm. "Isn't it marvelous?" he said proudly. "It peels apples."

"Very useful, I'm sure," Alejandro said, too distracted to bother mocking the little monstrosity. "Come on, I want to show you something."

Carlos shrugged affably, tucked his apple peeler under his arm, and followed him up the street between the tavern and the dry goods store. They passed the old mill and the little corral where the livery kept the overflow.

"We seem to have run out of town," Carlos said pointedly.

Alejandro pointed to a spot a hundred yards up the slight rise. "What do you think of that for a house site?" he asked.

Carlos grunted. "Extravagant, as gestures go."

Alejandro rolled his eyes. "For Diego."

"Huh. I would have thought if you were throwing one out it would be the short one."

Alejandro elbowed him hard in the ribs. "Because of the newspaper."

"Ah. I see. A home nearby for days he works late. But what if he likes the...view so much he never goes home?"

That was a thought that took Alejandro's breath away, but he said only, "He's a grown man. He has a right to set up his own household, if he wants. His mother left him quite a bit of money in his own name...As far as that goes, he could _build_ his own house if he wanted."

"My, how very high-minded and supportive you are."

"Yes, I am, dammit!"

"Hey. _Touchy._ All right. You have a point. He's old enough to pursue his own destiny."

"I certainly can't ask him to _wait_, can I?"

Carlos sighed. "How is he?"

"Good. Much better than we'd hoped for, certainly." He looked longingly at the little plot of land. "And finally - finally - here is something I can do to help, something I can give him. I would make it a surprise if I could." He chuckled. "I think he would notice, even if I erected a tarp across the front."

"Well, he is a newsman now. They are notoriously perceptive. He's bound to notice an entire house."

"I'll probably want him to draw up the design anyway."

"No doubt. I read last week's editorial. Do you own the land yet?"

"No. I'll have to ride out and talk to Roberto Segovia today. I can't imagine he won't let it go, though. I know he has no plans for it."

"I was hoping you'd stay in town for lunch and a game?"

"No, not today." Alejandro sighed. "Even without the new house, there is far too much to do. Maybe next week. Ah, you could come with me? It's a nice day for a ride."

"No, today I'm staying in town and enjoying myself."

It was on the tip of his tongue to argue with that, but it never did any good, so he took his leave, bought a couple of apples at a stall for a snack, and collected Andromeda for the ride south.

**Gilberto**

Diego was trying very hard to be gracious and pleasant. After all, it wasn't Gilberto's or Felipe's or Maria's or Pepe's fault that Father had decided Diego was simply unable to do his job and left him to sleep while he did it himself. None of them could have overridden him even if they'd wanted to.

Gilberto could certainly imagine how it rankled, though! Didn't he wake up from dreams where the old man extensively criticized the plans, tactics, and execution of Zorro and then left Gilberto home to do the job himself? It was only Father's ignorance that kept Gilberto from sharing his brother's ignominious fate.

His single attempt to offer sympathy, however, had been interrupted with an impatient growl and the sort of language Diego usually disapproved of, so after that Gilberto kept his mouth shut.

He didn't follow them to the newspaper office. If Diego was going to pick an argument with Father he wasn't going to get involved. His own life was complicated enough. Instead he bought gloves (both pairs in his size, not just the black one, although that meant taking the rather ugly pair of kid gloves in light green) and an meat pie (pork, because while he was fond of it - Maria considered it provincial and almost never served it) before sitting down on a bench to watch some kind of traveling peddler sell gadgets from the back of his wagon.

He chatted with people, listened to gossip. Diego was always better at this sort of thing; Diego could find the most tiresome person interesting and the most tedious conversation important. And you did never know, really, when something useful would drop into an otherwise dreary exchange. Today, for example, a superficial conversation he overheard between a miner and the blacksmith let slip a bit of information that was not only remarkable but actually alarming. Nothing he could deal with now, though, so he filed it away and went in to the tavern for something to eat.

Diego came in not long after, along with Felipe and the eccentric peddler from the wagon. Diego and the peddler were as chummy as old friends. Of course. Diego got on as well with the odd and the obsessed as he did with the tiresome and tedious. Still, Gilberto was willing to admit that this one, at least, told interesting stories. They spent most of a pleasant hour before they were interrupted by the hopeful-looking blacksmith who wanted a word with Professor Wayne. Diego, naturally, wouldn't stand in the way of business, so Wayne partied amiably and went to join the blacksmith at a quiet corner at the back.

Diego looked after him for a long moment.

"Are we up to something?" Gilberto asked.

Diego shrugged, "Not particularly. Oh, well, we _are_ engaged in a delicate negotiation: he has over a dozen English-language scientific journals with him, all less than three years old." He had a hungry look in his eyes.

"If he's willing to part with them they can't be very good."

"He has them memorized; he's been in Spanish territory for over a year. He won't take money for them however, and I'm not sure what I am willing to give up."

"Ah. You must be in agony."

Diego made a face at him and changed the subject. "Have you seen Father recently?"

"He walked off with Don Carlos a while ago. They didn't say where they were going."

"Ah. Well, Don Carlos is _here_," Diego said. Father was not.

"He could be anywhere. He's barely been home before dark for the last couple of weeks," Gilberto murmured wryly. "It's a shame we aren't more helpful."

Diego didn't appear to think the comment was funny. "We should make ourselves useful. Inspect the wheat field. The sprouts should be a few inches high by now."

Plants were never Gilberto's favorite activity. Cattle or even sheep were much more fun. But a long ride during which to speak privately with Diego suited his plans, so he rose at once and collected his hat.

After a short detour to pick up Felipe's new boots, they mounted up. When they had put town behind them, Gilberto motioned Felipe to ride up beside them and said bluntly, "If you were Luis Ramone, what would you be doing with a dozen barrels of poison?"

Well, that surprised them. Felipe gaped and Diego sputtered, "My God, _what_?"

"You know the mine tailings from that little working at San Luis Obispo?"

"Hmmm. Spectacular failure as a weed control, according to rumor. Oh, _don't_ tell me."

Gilberto nodded. "Twelve barrels."

"What is he going to do with it?"

"I have no idea. Even if it's not very powerful, twelve _barrels_...you could poison entire watering holes with that. Perhaps more than one. Or perhaps someone's well. Or perhaps a field - "

"Stop, please," Diego protested.

"I agree speculating isn't any help... But what are we going to do? He doesn't leave clues to his plans lying around his office anymore."

"Imagine that." Diego took a deep breath. "I could try to get it out of Mendoza."

"It would take too much time."

"Well, we have to think of something."

**Felipe**

Wednesday afternoons were much more pleasant when they didn't try to clear the type after the print run and the sales. Today it was a leisurely ride out to look at fields and fields of seedlings followed by a leisurely ride back to the hacienda. Diego seemed comfortable enough, and if Gilberto was worried about the alcalde and his poison, well, Zorro would sort that out.

When they returned home, Diego took a copy of the newspaper into the courtyard to examine it for mistakes. He fell asleep in the shade before he finished. Satisfied that Diego was settled, Felipe slipped down to the cave and looked after Toronado.

The day's surprise came when Don Alejandro joined them for supper. He laid a square sheet of paper on the table. Gilberto began to joke about reading at dinner and then froze. "This is a deed," he said in surprise, leaning to look more closely. "So close to town? Are you finally building a proper stockyard?"

That brought a startled laugh from Don Alejandro. "Certainly not. And not _there_, if I did! A permanent stockyard so close to town?"

"Not _this_ town, anyway," Diego said. "It might make more sense near San Pedro, depending - "

Gilberto interrupted him with a laugh. "A dance hall, then?" He waited for their shocked looks, but the rest of the family was used to him and refused to rise to the bait.

"What were you thinking of, Father," Diego asked mildly.

"I'm building a second house. Perhaps the two of you will be less fractious if you can get _away_ from each other occasionally."

The twins didn't look at one another. Diego asked - suddenly very serious - "Are we - I mean, surely we aren't quite that bad, Father?"

Don Alejandro didn't answer, only turned to Gilberto. "Well? Has your sense of humor deserted you now? Of _course_ you are not 'that bad!' Of course - " He glanced away for a moment. "Of course I am not building a house because you are impossible to live with. You are nearly twenty-six. You are adults. You should have more freedom of movement."

Felipe thought of Zorro, who surely had enough 'freedom of movement' by any definition, but Gilberto looked suddenly embarrassed and Diego closed his eyes.

Don Alejandro said, "If you insist on running a business in town," he cleared his throat. "Well, this will be more convenient."

"Incredibly convenient," Diego agreed softly.

For a few minutes everyone turned their attention to their food, eating with apparent single-mindedness. The generosity of the gesture made them all embarrassed. Then, suddenly, Don Alejandro said, "Do you happen to recall who built the tavern?"

Diego smiled slightly. "It was before I was born, but it was Little Pedro. He supervised the first part of the cuartel, too. He's been dead for years, though, obviously."

Don Alejandro 'hmmed' to himself. "Mission trained. You don't remember Fray Stefan. He was a very skilled builder...That's what we need, an older foreman from the mission. Someone trained by Fray Stefan or Little Pedro."

Diego nodded thoughtfully. "In another couple of weeks most of the fieldwork will be done for a while. You might be able to hire mission labor. But it's not a wonderful time of year for making adobe."

"Expensive..." Gilberto murmured. Most Californios who hired mission labor either paid the mission for the contract or paid the workers directly for illegal work done on the side. The De le Vegas paid both on the rare occasions they used Neophyte workers. It earned them some resentment among the other land owners, which Felipe thought was a little petty: even at double the price, the work was cheap.

"I want two stories," Don Alejandro said. "And I don't want them falling in at the first earthquake."

Surprised, Diego looked up. "Two stories? That seems rather large."

"Well, what's the point of doing it half way? I was thinking we would face the front door toward town and the bedrooms that little orange grove..." he began to draw with his finger on the table. Diego promptly produced a scrap of paper and a nub of charcoal from his pocket and suddenly Don Alejandro was scooting his chair closer and the two of them were immersed in tiny drawings. Three times Felipe nudged Diego to eat, but he scarcely seemed to notice he was chewing.

Gilberto, looking amused, ate methodically and then asked to be excused. Since it was clear he wouldn't be missed, Felipe followed him.

**Zorro**

In this first blush of excitement over floor plans and courtyards, there would be no talking to Diego or Father. They would change their minds a dozen times in the first hour. In a day or two, when they had settled down, he would look over their drawings without any excitement or sentimentality and...perhaps make a few comments. Gilberto wasn't fond of architecture or engineering, but he could be practical when he needed to.

And oh, the use Zorro could make of a house in town! Assuming there was a discrete entry...and a secure place to hide the costume and weapons...No way to hide Toronado in town, sadly. A barn is not generally a subtle structure.

Not anything he needed to worry about tonight. Tonight he was worried about Luis Ramone and a dozen barrels of poison. Gilberto set Felipe to saddle Toronado while he changed into black and inspected his sword and knives.

"What are you going to do?" Felipe asked.

"I'll think of something."

Gilberto wasn't particularly interested in engineering or architecture or irrigation or crops or orchards...and even cattle these days could barely hold his attention. He wasn't any good at poetry and he wasn't nearly the musician Diego was. But, Zorro, that was different. He was very, very interested in being Zorro. And even if, perhaps, Diego would have been a better Zorro, Gilberto was good _enough_.

Toronado was as silent as moonlight as he raced over the new grass. Curving around, they approached town from the north. He left Toronado in the shadows of the churchyard and crept to the back of the cuartel.

Ramone was not in his office or in his room. If he had slipped off to his tiny 'estate' then this was a wasted trip, but when he peeked in the tavern window, Zorro found the alcalde lingering over his meal. Briefly, Zorro considered taking him on the way back to the cuartel - he would feel vulnerable in the open - but there was too much chance that their private little 'talk' would be discovered. Instead, Zorro went to the alcalde's quarters in the fort to wait.

He stretched out on the bed, hoping his boots were leaving a little muddy mark on the coverlet. It was too dark to check. It was too dark to do anything but...sit in the dark. Gilberto was not particularly good at waiting. He couldn't even bring himself to _want_ to get good at it. But he needed to stay calm, to make sure that he controlled the situation. He mustn't be anxious or in a hurry. He must make Ramone react to him, not the other way around.

He sighed and stretched on Ramone's bed. Outside, below he could hear a group of soldiers gaming at dice. Beyond the cuartel wall, in town, someone was playing a guitar. Zorro waited, and even though he didn't like it, he did a good job of it.

At last he heard footsteps on the stairs. Silently, his soft boots making no sound on the floor, Zorro slipped to the side of the wardrobe and drew the little dagger Diego had given him.

Shadows leapt to life and danced crazily as the door opened, and Ramone entered, carrying a candle. Zorro waited until he had set it on a table and then slipped forward, two silent steps, and touch the point of the little knife to the bare skin between Ramone's ear and his collar. "Good evening, Senor Alcalde."

It was all Zorro could do not to impale the man accidently, he jumped so high.

"Oh, careful, Senor Alcalde. Don't lose your composure."

"Zorro!" Hoarse with panic, a single pant. "Murder? Creeping up on men in the dark? Are you a common thug now? Fight me with honor."

"Fight you...No, not tonight. If we were fighting, I might not be able to resist the temptation to run you through. I'm too...angry."

"Angry?" He started to turn, encountered the sharp point and froze. "At what? I haven't done anything - "

"'Yet,' Alcalde. I certainly hope you haven't done anything _yet_."

"What...what are you talking about?" Ramone seemed to shudder slightly. Fear? Rage?

"I'm talking about a wagonload of poison, not very expensive, only some otherwise useless mine tailings." Was that a flinch? "Does it sound familiar?"

After a long moment, Ramone said, "It's no crime to buy...agricultural chemicals."

Zorro found himself smiling. "Agricultural chemicals...Hm. No. Nothing the least inappropriate. All the rage, in fact, in some circles...Of course, what this batch of _chemicals_ does is kill fish and weeds. Crops, too. Very efficiently. Perhaps these particular chemicals also kill livestock? Or humans?"

"I - I wouldn't know. I mean - what you are suggesting - "

"You have no plans for these chemicals then? No plans at all?"

"Of course not!" His voice was steadier, now. Ramone was calming down.

Well. Zorro couldn't have that. He spun Ramone around, slammed him into the wall, and pointed the dagger at his eye. "Let us be clear," Zorro said very quietly. "Whatever your plans for your full dozen barrels of poison _were_, you will not act on them. If I hear of an orchard suddenly stricken by blight, a crop failing, a pig dropping dead in town, a mysterious illness...I will kill you."

"Kill me?"

"Kill you. I won't ask questions. I won't play games. And I won't give you any more chances. Do you understand?"

Ramone closed his eyes and whispered, "I understand."

"Excellent. Well. I think we've had a very profitable discussion, wouldn't you say? All our business taken care of." Zorro lowered the knife and took a single step backward. "Can you think of anything else we might need to talk about?"

Ramone swallowed hard and then rallied, "Your arrest?"

Zorro chuckled. "You can keep trying." Lightly, silently, Zorro went out the window, reaching up to swing onto the roof. He took off running across the tiles. It was a matter of eluding the lancers now. Surprisingly, it was a good ten seconds before Ramone screamed for his guards. Zorro was dropping over the side of the wall, by then. He whistled for Toronado.

Someone - overzealous, panicking - fired a weapon. There was a great deal of shouting from the gate, which didn't open for nearly a minute. By then Toronado was thundering through the plaza. Zorro mounted at a run and kept going, west, out of town on the road to San Pedro.

They led the lancers on a chase directly toward the coast. Toronado was fast. The lancers were far behind to begin with and not thrilled about chasing Zorro through the darkness anyway. A mile outside of town, he turned Toronado off the road into a field, leading him on foot between the rows of baby melon plants. On the other side was a shallow creek bed. Only the center was running at the moment. He coaxed Toronado into lying down. They were completely concealed with the lancers finally rode past.

They didn't get back on the road after that. It would have been easier on Toronado, but it would have been too arrogant to_ assume_ that no rear guard had been left to watch. They circled to the north until they met the Kings Road to take them back south. It was easy from there. Toronado knew the way.

In the cave, Gilberto gave Toronado a long rubdown before combing out his mane and tail and pouring him some fresh water. The ride home and the careful currying leached most of his anger away.

Most of it. If he let himself think too much about Luis Ramone, fury would rise up like bile. His crimes, his cheats, his arrogance, his vanity...how he loved to have people in his power and how he liked to watch them suffer.

And _poison_. Poison was the weapon of a man who didn't care who or what died.

Los Angeles deserved better than this -

More than two generations of settlers and monks and neophytes and honest soldiers deserved better than this -

Gilberto had needed that anger to face Ramone. To make his point he had had to be terrifying. But he couldn't go into the house with this rage. Zorro could be terrifying. Gilberto De la Vega could not. He had to be -

Well, actually, that was a problem lately. He wasn't very consistent. His actual interests and moods often didn't match what he appeared to be doing. Pretending _not_ to be Zorro - pretending not to be exhausted - pretending not to be away from home, or to _be_ at home - pretending that the only thing he ever worried about was Diego -

He closed his eyes and dismissed Ramone from his thoughts. That anger had no place in his home, in Gilberto de le Vega's life...

The house was dark and quiet. Gilberto found his way by the feel of the floors under his feet. In Diego's room the lamp burned low. In the dim light he could see Diego sitting in the chair, a book open in his lap, his head leaning to the side, sleeping. The window was open, but there were no other signs of distress.

Creeping further into the room, Gilberto discovered Felipe, asleep on Diego's bed, a book open beside him as well. It was a tremendously reassuring feeling, finding them safe and sleeping at home. His family -

Had it been only a year and a half ago that Gilberto had brought his brother home to die? Gilberto had had no hope then; his desperate pleas to God had only been for Diego to survive the journey. But after a few months he had begun to steadily improve. He was well enough to work, to fence, to ride out and visit neighbors...

A great deal of this miracle could probably be traced to the pest: the exhausted child sprawled across the foot of Diego's bed. His devotion, that was no surprise...but who would ever have guessed he would be so clever or have so much strength? He never seemed to doubt or despair, he never complained, he never forgot a dose, never allowed Diego to bluff his way out of taking care of himself...

And this last year had been so _good_.

Gilberto crouched down and slid Diego's book free. Diego's eyes fluttered open. He shifted in the chair and glanced around the dim room. He asked, very softy, "How was your visit to town?"

Gilberto shrugged. He didn't know if his gambit had worked. "I had no difficulties. I got in and out as planned," he said.

Diego smiled slightly, "What was the plan?"

"I told Ramone I knew about the poison, and if he used it anywhere, ever, I would kill him."

Diego stifled a laugh. It was a moment before he could speak. "I thought you were starting to get the hang of subtlety."

Gilberto gave him his sternest look. "I did not have _time_ to be subtle, and you had no better ideas. If that poison were ever used - "

"Yes, I know it. I know. But - threatening murder? I know you weren't serious about killing him."

Inwardly, Gilberto sighed. "Yes, I would do it. And it wouldn't be murder. It isn't murder if it's a fair fight."

"Fair fight? 'Berto, there is no man in California against whom you could have a fair fight."

"Nonsense. I was beaten last week." By Diego, naturally. They had snuck off to the shearing shed to give Felipe a lesson, and toward the end, as usual, Diego had taken the practice sword for a few minute of play. This time, instead of trying to draw things out, he had submitted to the limits of endurance and immediately tricked Gilberto thinking that he was moving very quickly up and to the left - and then floating lightly to the right and down. If the swords had been edged, Gilberto would have been hamstrung. It had been a beautiful move.

"That hardly counts - "

"Anyway, that isn't the point. He _knew _I meant it. He nearly pissed himself. Whatever he was planning...he won't do it." I think. I hope.

Diego said, "I hope not. But. We have done all we can."

Taking this moment to change the subject, Gilberto nodded at the open window. "Have you been ill?"

"A little uncomfortable. Don't look at me like that. There is a world of difference between a room 'feeling stuffy,' and a room having 'absolutely no air.' I'm fine."

"I will take your word for it. Can we get you into bed?"

"Felipe first..."

Gilberto considered waking the child and moving him to the bedroll in the outer room. Instead, he turned him ninety degrees and covered him with the spare blanket that was kept folded up on the trunk in the corner of the room. Felipe's eyes stuttered open. Gilberto shook his head and patted his shoulder. Felipe went back to sleep.

On the other side of the bed, Gilberto drew back the covers. "There's room, I think," he said softly.

"What, you're actually tucking me in?"

"Shh. Don't wake Felipe."

Diego might have rolled his eyes at that, but the room was too dark to tell.

~TBC


	6. October 27, 1814

**October 27, 1814**

**Felipe**

He woke on Diego's bed, still dressed in all is clothes but his sandals. For a moment he thought it was very early, but then he realized the sky outside was overcast. It might be very late. They had stayed up again, waiting for Zorro. He must have gotten in all right. Diego had gone to bed.

As softly as he could, he got up and checked the time: not quite late to breakfast yet, so he woke Diego. Don Alejandro wouldn't criticize if Diego slept late, but he would worry.

In fact, Don Alejandro hurried through breakfast, scarcely noticing them. He was off to the mission to begin negotiations for a building team. Having made up his mind, he was very eager to begin.

After breakfast Diego and Felipe went to the pueblo. They had to clear the type, and Diego was meeting with that foreign peddler. He had a saddle bag full of books, which he carried with him into the tavern. Over tea, Diego and Professor Wayne talked about their favorite books (which was normal enough) and their favorite scientific experiments (which was funny, if you thought about it). Wayne was enthusiastic and earnest, if a bit arrogant. Felipe sort of liked him.

After about an hour, Diego began to bring out the books he'd brought. Some, Wayne had already read. Others didn't interest him. His eyes lit up, though, when he saw the de Saint-Fond. "Is that a translation of _Aérostatique_? I could never find a copy in English..."

Diego smiled, but not too widely. "Surely, your Spanish is good enough by now..." he suggested. "It is very detailed. Quite interesting. I have read it four times."

Wayne lifted the book. "And you're willing to give it up?"

Diego nodded toward the stack of journals Wayne had brought. "I haven't read those yet."

"Hmmm. I have always been a fan of ballooning..."

Diego laughed. "Who isn't? Now...this one is in English."

"Barrington?"

"It was a gift. I think, somehow, I don't need a treatise on the North Pole...although it is interesting in an abstract way..."

They danced and negotiated a bit. It was clear which books Wayne wanted, and he must know there weren't many people with whom he could make this sort of trade in the colonies. And the way Diego looked at those journals - He was practically drooling. But they took their time anyway. They finished a second pot of tea and talked about the weather and finally - finally - came to an agreement.

They were deciding whether to have another pot of tea when the alcalde came over and politely asked if he could join them. He was perfectly dressed and clean-smelling and he spoke very elegantly. Felipe kept his eyes down and wished he were invisible or someplace else. When the alcalde noticed unimportant people it was to destroy them.

He wasn't noticed, of course. The alcalde made polite small talk with Diego (which was odd and unnatural because he'd had Diego arrested twice) and chatted with Professor Wayne about how he liked the little pueblo...and eventually asked, very casually, if he had any wares of an offensive nature.

Diego replied at once; sounding thoroughly shocked, he tapped the stack of scientific journals. "Alcalde, if you are implying that he possesses _improper_ materials - "

"Of course not - " the alcalde sputtered.

"Or anything of a treasonous nature - " Diego's outrage was just a little too strident. He was taunting the alcalde somehow.

"Certainly not! Really, de le Vega, could you try to employ some prudence? I am talking about armaments! Something of military value."

Diego blinked at him innocently. "Really, alcalde? The fort is quite well armed..."

But Wayne was already answering. "I have made a slight improvement to the bayonet attachment - "

The alcalde waved a hand, "Trivial." He looked bored.

"Well, Alcalde, what did you have in mind? There is nothing Doctor Henry Wayne can't invent. You just tell me what you need and I'll invent it for you. You have my personal guarantee."

"A guarantee?"

"If you aren't satisfied, I'll give you your money back."

The alcalde's eyes narrowed. Beneath all of his fine clothes and perfect manners was a coldness that gave Felipe goose bumps. "All right. I want you to _invent_ me a way to trap a fox."

"A - a fox, sir?"

"_The_ Fox," the alcalde said, smiling with his even, white teeth. "He's very famous, our fox."

In his surprise, Professor Wayne knocked over his tea cup. Fortunately, it was nearly empty. "The Fox! The folk hero, Fox?"

All traces of pleasantness and charm vanished. "Folk hero? Hardly! A bandit, a hoodlum, a traitor to the Spanish Crown!"

Wayne blinked rapidly. "Oh. Er. I suppose. I don't really know very much...I mean, I've only recently...What exactly...?"

"He is a thug who has terrorized this pueblo - my pueblo - long enough and I want him brought to justice. Can you do it or not?"

"Um, possibly. Probably. I would have to tailor the specific...that is, to take the commission, I would have to know a great deal about his abilities and his methods..."

"Done. Come to my office and I'll give you all of our records about his activities. You'll start immediately, of course."

Wayne blinked. "Of course. Certainly." He turned toward Diego apologetically. "Well. Duty calls. I don't mean to be rude - "

"Oh, no," Diego said quickly. "I understand completely. This is an opportunity not to be missed! The challenge..." He shrugged and held out his hand. "If you'll be in town for a while, perhaps you would stop by and visit some afternoon."

The alcalde looked impatient, but waited until Wayne had said his proper good-byes before leading him away. Diego looked after them for a moment, then slowly packed away the new journals and the remaining books he had not traded.

Felipe, no longer able to stand it, pinched his arm. "This is a disaster!"

Diego sighed. "Well, certainly it will be an embarrassment for poor Henry when he fails to catch Zorro. I will try to be properly sympathetic."

Horrified, Felipe demanded, "He's a genius! What if he doesn't fail!"

Diego actually looked surprised. "Stop worrying," he said. He smiled slightly and added with his hands, "So am I. Now. We've left poor Nicholas alone long enough. Let's get back to work."

When they reached the newspaper office, though, a man was waiting for them, sitting almost nervously in the corner. Diego glanced at him and produced a handful of small coins from his pocket. "Here," he said. "You boys head over to the tavern and get some snacks." It seemed odd since they had just come from there, but sometimes Diego did not talk about newspaper business in front of the assistants.

Outside, Nicholas asked, "Who was he? I haven't seen him before. He's not very clean."

Felipe shrugged. "He's working on the new irrigation system, I think." He didn't give the man any more thought.

~tbc


	7. October 28, 1814

**October 28, 1814**** (Friday)**

**Gilberto**

Early in the morning, Don Alejandro left for the vineyards up in the hills. He would be gone for a couple of days, leaving Gilberto, nominally, in charge at home. Gilberto had spent the pervious two afternoons inspecting fields, though, and Diego had spent much of the day before on the ledgers and receipts. He decided they could spare a morning to go check on the new neighbors.

They packed a basket with presents (fruit, bread, a small ham, smoked fish, some cheese, a packet of tortillas, and a small jar of honey) and left early for the Neilson farm. They didn't bother with the road, but rode cross-country through acres and acres of de le Vega pasture land. It had rained the night before, so the grass was still wet and the breeze was nice and cool. Diego and Felipe were in a very cheerful mood. Diego, in particular, was enjoying himself: he was riding Andromeda not the elderly Esperanza.

Gilberto would try not to think about how often Diego snuck out to ride Toronado. No, it wasn't safe, but Gilberto didn't have the heart to put a stop to it. Assuming he could.

They reached the Neilson farm by late morning. The plowing had only just been completed, and they were starting to plant. Or, rather, Senor and Senora Nielson were planting, and Anton was piling rocks from the turned ground into the wagon.

Busy as they were, they were happy to have visitors. Diego - politely, carefully - presented Senora Nielson with seeds for a kitchen garden, varieties that did well in the local climate: squash, melon, peppers, carrots, beets, and onions. She was delighted and led him to the open area between the decayed house and barn where they had turned the ground intending to plant only cabbage. Her Spanish was slow and laborious, but she grilled Diego with tremendous care and patience about how to care for each one.

Gilberto took her place hoeing a thin layer of earth over the seeds Daniil dropped neatly into place. They were growing wheat, barely, and a little corn. "Corn?" Gilberto asked in surprise. "Have you grown this before?"

"Only a little. It makes very good porridge."

Gilberto wrinkled his nose but didn't laugh. "Well, it _does_. But there are better things you can do with it." It occurred to him that he had only the dimmest idea how either masa or atole were made, actually. "You'll have to come visit. Perhaps Maria can show your wife..."

It was dull, slow work, but neighborly. Gilberto pretended to know very little Russian (fluency was rare, and the alcalde knew Zorro had it) and allowed Daniil to 'teach' him more. The conversation more than compensated for the labor.

Just as the sun was getting uncomfortably hot they stopped for lunch. The Nielson's didn't have much in the way of furniture, and the table left by the previous owners was missing a leg, so they ate picnic-style on a woven mat spread out in the shade of the tiny house.

Because it was Friday, they set aside the ham, but in addition to the hamper the de le Vegas had brought, the Nielsons added a surprisingly tasty cabbage soup, something that might be grated radish, and goat's milk.

**Diego**

During lunch Diego finally had a chance to talk to Daniil Nielson about the water management problems. Daniil had made a point of watching over the last week to see where the rain collected and where it ran off. He had three spots picked out to dig down and create shallow ponds to slow the runoff. With all the fall rains the soil was heavy but soft, and the backfill would be used to dam the water further. The rocks Anton and Felipe had been collecting from the fields would be turned to this purpose, too. Serious work could begin once the crops were in the ground, and that would only take a few more days.

"What you have to understand, though," Diego said, "is that during a dry year, rain won't be enough. If we can find groundwater, a well would be the best option. Otherwise...I'm just not sure it's possible to irrigate from the nearest creeks. Even with a well, there are no guarantees. The droughts are unpredictable."

"Or at least," Gilberto added, "We can't _yet _predict them."

"We'll value any advice you can give us," Daniil said. "In these parts, how...that is, who...where do you dig a well? Does anyone...know?"

Gilberto shrugged. "Granny Garcia is good at picking well spots. Or - What is his name, with the hair that sticks up?"

"Juan Sanchez. He found three wells when Don Antonio expanded," Diego said. "The water may be deep. The pumping system - " Diego remembered Wayne's apple peeler. "I recently met a man who is good with gears..." That would be it, wouldn't it? Gilberto had mentioned a wind pump, but you'd need a very good gearing system..."

"Don Gilberto, Don Diego," Daniil said carefully, "I don't know how we'll ever repay you for the help you've already given us."

"Oh, it's entirely selfish," Gilberto said easily. "The alcalde set you up to fail. It will be a great personal satisfaction to prove him wrong."

Diego elbowed him gently. "Everybody relies on their neighbors. In some ways, we are at the very end of the world. Certainly, the empire isn't in a position to save us. We must take care of each other."

The Nielsons had other questions. They asked about their near neighbors at the mission; the Indians who hadn't been Christianized; and Zorro. They asked about adobe construction and cattle round-ups and cactuses. They didn't dwell on any topic for long, though, and when lunch was finished, Senora Nielson immediately began to collect the dishes and Daniil stood apologetically. There was a great deal of work to do.

As Diego rose, the world went grey, and the ground tilted under him. Of course. He had been up and down all morning, preparing soil and sowing, and now, _now_, he was fighting a faint.

He felt Felipe's compact body seize him from the front and try to slow his fall. The hand on his upper arm was Gilberto, catching him from behind. He let them lower him to the mat.

A little dizziness he could bluff his way through; even if his brain thought the world was spinning, his feet still knew how to walk. But when his vision narrowed and faded, there was no way to shrug that off. If he tried he would only pass out completely...and wake up with a headache and even _more_ humiliated than otherwise.

Not that it wasn't already embarrassing, lying here staring up at the sky while Gilberto lifted his feet up to rest in his lap and Felipe slid his fingers around Diego's wrist.

In the few moments it took for Gilberto to explain Diego's weak heart to their hosts, the sky stopped spinning and Diego's head cleared. Gilberto set Diego's feet down and shifted close enough to whisper, "With us, Little Brother?"

"I'm fine," Diego answered. But he didn't try to lift his head yet.

"Did you remember your medicine?"

The question was patronizing but fair. Diego bit back his irritation. "I took it."

"Perhaps an extra dose?"

Felipe let go of Diego's hand and hit Gilberto sharply across the shoulder. What he said after that, though, Diego didn't see.

Gilberto leaned down again and said softly, "He says your pulse is slow enough, and it's a bad idea to sedate your heart further right now."

Diego thought about that. "Probably right. It's just a faint. Give me a moment..."

So it was another half hour before they mounted up and left. Diego had lain in the shade with Felipe while Gilberto went back to work, everyone kindly pretend that they didn't notice the...inconvenience of Diego's frailty.

The journey home was much slower than the journey out, and Felipe and Gilberto carefully boxed Diego in on either side. The fussing and coddling would have been unbearable, but they weren't only patient and kind. They were both trying very hard to show no worry.

Someday he would leave them, and he was _not_ going to leave them remembering that he had found his life miserable or resented their attempts to care for him. He was, by God, going to bear this gracefully, for their sakes if not for his own pride. For them he kept his head up and his demeanor pleasant.

Z

Maria met them at the door with the news that Diego had a guest waiting in the library. It was Professor Wayne. Gilberto strode forward to declare that Diego was ill and not receiving visitors, but Diego turned him aside with a look that clearly said Gilberto was being an idiot. Wayne had been engaged to capture Zorro. Of course Diego would see him.

He greeted his guest warmly and seated him in the best chair. He sent Gilberto off to fetch some refreshments and Felipe off to fetch some note paper. "I hope you are enjoying our hospitality here in Los Angeles," Diego said, intent on filling as many minutes as he could with small talk. Henry Wayne would never get the idea from him that Diego had any special interest in the alcalde's plan to capture Zorro.

So they talked about the excellent food at the tavern and the weather and the very exotic foreign neighbors the de le Vegas had been visiting. Just as Wayne began to shift nervously, Diego asked how his work in town was going.

"Actually, since you mention it," Professor Wayne began, "I did want to talk to you about that."

"Oh?" Diego asked mildly.

"I've been reading the Alcalde's files on Zorro's appearances."

Diego nodded. "Yes, I imagine that is the place to start."

Wayne hesitated a moment, then leaned forward and lowered his voice. "I have to say, it all seems rather...irregular."

The picture of helpfulness, Diego asked, "In what way?"

"The alcalde is adamant that Zorro is a brigand and a thief, but for all his activity, he hasn't actually_ stolen_ very much. Doesn't that seem odd to you?"

"Ah, yes. That is something to think about."

"And yet, all those rumors about him being a folk hero - but he doesn't have a following. I mean, he doesn't have a gang. And he doesn't make demands against the government. And he isn't calling for anarchy."

"That is true. Zorro is very mysterious."

"I mean, what he _does_ do seems absurdly random: a horse race for the pueblo's losses? A fight with a thieving, kidnapping, traveling magician? A vendetta against a fortune teller? He is charged with some thirty-two counts of 'interfering with civil penalties.' I don't even know what that _is_."

"Is it only thirty-two?" Gilberto asked, coming in with a tray of lemonades. "It seems like more."

Diego could not risk giving a quelling look, so he merely _willed_ Gilberto to shut up. "The penalty for missing a tax deadline is a public whipping."

Wayne gasped. "You're kidding!" Diego just looked at him. Wayne squirmed for a moment, and then his confusion burst forth again. "But apparently, he keeps capturing bandits and delivering them to the fort! I mean, what kind of behavior is that?"

Diego stifled a smile. "I'm sure I couldn't tell you." He took the lemonade Gilberto held out and drank deeply.

"I suppose the bandits could be explained as having a low tolerance for competition. But what is the point of the rest of it? Do you suppose he might be mad?"

Diego swallowed hard to keep choking on his lemonade. "That is an explanation I had not considered," he managed.

"He's completely unpredictable!" Wayne complained. "How do you begin to capture a man like that?"

Thankfully, Gilberto remained quiet and Diego moved in smoothly. "Oh, now, don't give up. He might be an enigma, but he's hardly unpredictable. There are certain places he tends to appear, are there not? Certain things he does, over and over? It hardly matters for your purposes why he does them."

"I suppose..."

"He often comes to town, but he easily evades pursuit. I've always thought that if one had a high enough vantage point, it would be possible to see where he went."

"High enough - But how would you build a high enough - You can't be thinking of the Montgolfier devices!"

Wayne had an excellent mind. He saw so much so quickly and thought with as much agility as Diego could hope for. But he was foreign and naïve. He had no idea what they were up against here in California, and he had no stake in it. So Diego only smiled and said, "Why not? The principals are well understood."

"The time! The expense! The dangers of a fifty-foot drop!"

"You'd likely need a hundred feet at least."

Wayne blanched. He hemmed and hawed for a moment. "As much as I would _like_ to do it, it simply isn't practical. Perhaps, being only a hobbyist, you can't understand..."

"But that still leaves your problem."

Wayne heaved a sigh. "Capturing Zorro...Your alcalde is not a good man to disappoint."

"So you'll have to take Zorro in town. In some place he appears often - a space you can control."

"The alcalde believes Zorro occasionally searches his office," Wayne offered.

"My goodness. How insolent," Gilberto murmured.

Diego only said, "That is a bounded location you could control, I suppose..."

Wayne grimaced, glanced at the lemonade he hadn't touched. "Well... I suppose I should start measuring that office..."

"That's probably best." Diego rose to see him to the door, but almost at once the room spun and pitched wildly. He caught himself against a small table and waited while Gilberto said their goodbyes to Professor Wayne.

Felipe took Diego by the upper arm and guided him back to his seat. Frowning, he loosened Diego's collar and wrapped his warm fingers around Diego's wrist. Gilberto, returning from the entryway almost doubled-over with silent laughter, froze at the sight of them. "Oh, Mother Mary, not again," he whispered, hurrying over. "Diego?"

Felipe let Go of Diego's arm and said something complicated, but he was facing away and Diego couldn't follow it. Gilberto frowned. "Are you sure?"

Diego couldn't follow the answer either.

Gilberto lifted Diego's feet onto a stool, then stripped off his right shoe and sock.

"I'm fine," Diego protested. "It's just a little lightheadedness. It's nothing. There is no sign I'm getting worse."

"That's what Felipe says," Gilberto said. He opened Diego's shirt and pressed his ear Diego's chest. He came away frowning and seizing Diego's hand to squeeze his fingers one at a time. "He says it is time to cut back on your dose again. Hmmm. He may be right."

For a moment Diego was too surprised to speak. "Again? Impossible."

Gilberto rocked back on his heels and took a deep breath. "There _is _no sign you're getting worse, though. And if you're lightheaded...your heart should be faster. Unless the _reason _you are having trouble is that it is too slow..."

Oh. Again. Diego felt himself smile.

"Perhaps we should send for Father Benitez..."

Angrily, Felipe signed, "The next does is in two hours. This dose has to be smaller. I'm right. You have to listen to me."

Gilberto raised his hand. "I don't distrust you," he said softly. "I know you know... But I have to be careful. We have to be careful."

Felipe didn't back off. "One drop less, every dose. Starting _now_."

Gilberto glanced at Diego, saw no disagreement, nodded. "All right." He smiled slightly. "So. Doing better then?"

"Apparently," Diego agreed.

"I don't imagine it feels like it at the moment," he continued gently.

Reluctantly, Diego said, "I admit, right now...I dread the idea of doing anything."

"Bed then?"

"Let me stay here for a while. I should be able to join you all for supper."

"Not likely," Gilberto muttered. "But stay here if you're comfortable. In the mean time...would you like me to stay?"

"As lovely as it sounds to have you stare at me for the rest of the afternoon...no. Why don't you go out to take a look at the bees? It's been a while. I'll be fine here. There is nothing to do but wait."

Gilberto smiled unconvincingly. "All right then."

~TBC


	8. October 31, 1814

_Usual disclaimer: this is a hobby, a profit-less activity. Everything belongs to, well, all the dozens of people from McCulley on down including the actors and writers who created them. _

**October 31, 1814**

**Victoria **

Victoria put the last loaves of bread into the oven, wiped her hands, and went out to the front room. It was a lovely, cool morning. The doors were open to catch the breeze. The tavern was busy, but not with customers. Everyone was getting ready for the Day of the Dead. Anita had cleared off one of the big tables and was rolling and cutting cookies. Over beside the bar Pilar was winding garlands and two of the town boys were helping hang them. All of the tables and windowsills already had little jars of marigolds. The decorating was shaping up nicely.

The only customer Victoria had was the eccentric American traveler, Professor Wayne. He sat at a table beside the window, poring over drawings and diagrams and sipping endless glasses of orange juice. He looked like he hadn't slept in days.

Victoria brought him another glass of juice. She added a plate of bread this time, too. He thanked her absently and bent over his scattered papers.

She helped Pilar with the garlands until it was time to take out the last of the bread. When she returned, Wayne was gone, a couple of coins waiting on the table. Odd man. She wondered how long he would stay in town. He slept in his wagon, not the tavern, but he ate all his meals there and he paid immediately instead of keeping a tap. A good customer.

Don Diego entered the tavern and caught her eye. Victoria grinned at him and went to get some more orange juice. Having Diego in the tavern was always nice. She brought back two glasses as well as the pitcher and glanced at the empty chair at the table he occupied. Diego nodded for her to sit. "The decorations are coming along nicely," he said.

"Thank you." She leaned forward and lowered her voice. "Can I admit I am trying to out-do the general store? It always looks perfect for the festival, and Senora Estevez is always so _pleased_ about it."

Diego laughed. "Well, I'm sure you'll 'win.' And if you don't, I'll be happy to sabotage the competition."

He was kidding, so Victoria narrowed her eyes in pretended outrage, "Thank you, but I'm perfectly capable of managing my own sabotage. Not that it would be necessary."

That made him laugh again, and Victoria's stomach fluttered a little. Diego was the most handsome man she knew, and he was honorable and fair and compassionate and he took political ideals seriously - but he was not for her. Even if he were still marriageable, she was the wrong class and he could do better. A life with him was not - and never had been - possible. Not for her.

She was determined to be sensible about it. He was her friend, and the most loyal and supportive friend she could ask for. So she ignored the silly, useless, fluttery feeling in her belly and asked brightly, "What brings you to town? You're usually busy writing on Mondays. Is the newspaper closing for the holiday?"

He drew himself up and looked down his nose. "Hardly. I'll have you know, we're printing a day early, since the schedule of events will be in the paper and festival starts on Tuesday. Page one is finished." The mock arrogance vanished suddenly and he gave a sheepish shrug. "If you must know, Felipe and Nicolas have chased me off for getting in the way. Three people can't work on one page."

Victoria tried to look optimistic, but she couldn't help saying, "I don't know, Diego. How often do you get page one done, and then have to rip everything out and start over because you can't make page two come out even?"

"Actually," he said seriously, "I think I have that worked out this time. The things that _must_ go on page two - the editorial, the little notices for everyone who has died this last year, the article on the governor's decree on road maintenance - I am quite sure there is not enough of that material to fill the page. But rather than raiding page one, we will fill whatever space is left with festival recipes or seasonal poetry. We have a pile of examples, we just have to choose one of the right length."

"That's brilliant. You might be finished before lunchtime!"

"Well, at least before dinner." He sighed. "I can't tell you, Victoria...I really was beginning to think I would never get the hang of it. Layout has been a nightmare. And a couple of weeks, finding enough news..." He shook his head. "But finally it is starting to come together."

"I'm glad to hear it. The newspaper has been just wonderful. I wasn't sure at first..." No, not at all. She hadn't been able to imagine what it would mean for the territory, and she had worried that the hard work would be too much for Diego. But seeing the facts of his behavior in print seemed to have curbed the worst of the alcalde's excesses (although it was still too early to tell), and Diego had taken to publishing like a duck to water or an eagle to the sky. "Looking back, I don't know how we managed without one."

"Hmmm." Diego lowered is voice. "I should say, I've been getting some compliments on 'Lady of the Heart.' The column is ...prudent and compassionate."

Victoria's face went hot all the way up to her ears. The blush was every bit as embarrassing as his kind words had been. She cast around desperately for a change of subject - they could not really talk publically about her column, anyway, since no one knew who was writing it - but before she could think of anything, Mendoza and two lancers came in.

Oddly, Mendoza seemed to be blushing as well, and while he strode right up to her, he wouldn't look her in the eye. Also, he and the men with him were armed. She wondered if they had all just been humiliated by Zorro again, although she hadn't heard anything. "Mendoza, I don't allow rifles in my tavern."

He held out an official looking paper, glanced nervously at the men behind him, drew himself up and announced, "Señorita Escalante, I apologize. It is my unpleasant duty to put you under arrest."

Diego jumped to his feet so fast his chair fell over. For a single, terrible moment Victoria was afraid there was going to be violence, but once standing, Diego froze. His face went blank and one of his hands closed around the edge of the table. He held out the other hand and asked woodenly, "May I?"

Clearly abashed, Mendoza held out the paper. Diego read aloud, "'Consorting with the enemy bandit Zorro.'"

"'Consorting!'" Victoria sputtered indignantly, trying to bury the little coil of fear in her belly. She had always known this was possible, although she thought it was unlikely. Zorro. She had helped him and publicly approved of him. Sometimes that was enough to get a law-abiding citizen seized and punished.

Mendoza turned a slightly brighter shade of red. "Well...Senorita...your feelings...that is your opinion about the enemy bandit Zorro are well known. I mean..."

"Am I to be arrested for my 'feelings' and 'opinions' now? Is that what justice means in Los Angeles?"

"Um? Perhaps you can take it up before the magistrate? He should be in town next week. Or the week after?" He took his paper back from Diego and turned to the lancers. "Well? Take her away."

From behind, Diego called, "I'll be over to check on you as soon as I tell the boys to clear page one."

It would be in the newspaper. This ridiculous arrest would be in the newspaper. Victoria laughed and called back, "Don't go to any trouble. Page two is fine. Another arrest is hardly _news_."

Diego didn't smile back.

The alcalde met her at the door to the little jail. He smiled politely. "Senorita. How nice to see you again."

She couldn't find it in herself to be charming. "Three arrests in two years. Do you think this one is going to end any differently from the last two?"

He smiled, showing an awful lot of teeth. "I certainly hope not."

He locked her in a cell and left her alone. Diego, when he came by an hour later, was not allowed to see her. She could hear his voice and the alcalde's in the next room, but the conversation ended without shouting. The hamper of linens and snacks Diego had brought was handed to her by one of the guards.

Well. She had been arrested before. This was no different. And if the charges were true this time...well, there was no evidence. Possibly, this was not about any action or political position of hers. Possibly, the alcalde was trying to spoil the festival for some reason. Or distract everyone from some notorious plan.

The hamper also contained a book of poetry. Victoria sat down on the hard cot and read.

**Felipe**

Diego burst into the newspaper office with such violence that when he slammed the door shut the floors shook. Felipe and Nicholas gaped at him.

"I could kill him! This - _This_ is too much! Helping the government capture a bandit, yes, wonderful, fair. But using a human being like a - like a_ thing_! Stupid, foolish, irresponsible..." He trailed off and leaned back against the closed door.

"What's wrong?" Felipe asked worriedly. This kind of tantrum would not even be surprising from Gilberto, but Diego usually had a better grip on the de le Vega temper than this.

"They are using Victoria to bait Wayne's trap for Zorro."

Nicholas gasped. "The Anglo is trying to capture Zorro?"

Diego's head shot up, and he balled his hands into fists. He had clearly forgotten that Nicholas was there. "Yes, but that is a secret. You must not let anyone _ever_ know that you knew."

Eyes wide as saucers, Nicholas nodded. He was already in awe of Diego's education. Now it must look like he could read minds or predict the future.

Felipe went up to Diego and patted his arm. "Everything will all right. Zorro will not allow Victoria to be harmed, and he will not be captured."

"That is not the point, Felipe. Victoria - She is the best of us, and she deserves better than to be hauled away and used as cheese."

Felipe was worried about Diego's current fury. He came by the short temper honestly enough, and under the circumstances his response was completely natural (and not even excessive), but anger seemed to drain his strength more quickly than anything else. He slapped Diego across the upper arm and signed, "Calm down."

Diego's only answer was an irritated look, but he did go to the water bucket and drank two dippers full of water. He was more composed when he turned around.

"Shall I start unsetting page one, Boss?" Nicholas asked.

Diego blinked as though he were remembering the paper for the first time. "Yes." He cleared his throat. "Yes, we'll clear page one. New headline: "Prominent Citizen Arrested" but leave it blank under there." He came to peer down at the plate. "Four inches. Keep this, this, this on page one. Move the article on the new warehouse in San Pedro to page two."

"Page two will run long," Nicholas said.

"Cut the food column."

"We can't save it until next week, Boss. It is about the festival."

"We'll cut it completely," Diego said briskly, running his fingers lightly over the text that was already set and measuring the space it took with his eyes.

Nicholas lowered his voice. "The sergeant will be hurt..." It wasn't a protest, but a meek reminder. Nicholas would never argue with Diego.

"The sergeant just arrested Victoria, his hurt feelings aren't under consideration." He sighed. "Food isn't _news_, it is...only useful information. If we have a real story, then it must be cut. Never mind. You take page one. I will work on page two." He paused, thinking. "Felipe, you go on home and tell Father what has happened. Come back with a hamper; she was very kind to us when we were arrested."

Felipe limited himself to one worried look before he left, and then he mounted Sunshine and hurried home. It wasn't Don Alejandro Diego was anxious to inform. It was Gilberto.

Fortunately, he found Gilberto at home, high on a ladder hanging garlands for Maria. He explained about Victoria's arrest and then hurried off to pack a basket. As quick as he was, Gilberto was already long gone when Felipe started back to town.

By the time he got back to town himself, Gilberto and Diego were sitting calmly on the tavern porch, eating skull-shaped cookies and drinking lemonade. Despite the fact that they had a great deal to talk about, they only said the occasional word to one another.

Diego rose and motioned Felipe to take his place at the table. He collected the basket and walked over to the alcalde's office.

"Have a cookie," Gilberto said. "They're very good."

"The tavern is still open?" Felipe asked before he picked up a cookie.

"Why not? This isn't the first time the staff has done their jobs without her. She won't be in jail very long." He smiled. For just a moment, it was Zorro's smile.

Felipe finished the cookie. Diego returned and sat down with his back to the plaza. "They have tried to conceal it, but Ramone's office...don't even try it." He shook his head disapprovingly.

"Overkill?"

"To the point of comedy. The roof looks safe, though."

"Would have started with that..." Gilberto said.

"The construction would be too visible."

"A point." Gilberto leaned forward. "I want you out of town by sundown."

"My page one lead won't be finished."

"Only the ending. Leave yourself space for a paragraph or two. I mean it. I won't have you involved."

A short pause. "Fine," Diego said.

"And before you go back to the paper, you need to visit a friend."

"Oh? Oh. Yes. Good idea." Diego rose. "I'll see you at dinner. Felipe, run along back to the office and finishing removing the food section from page two."

**Victoria **

As hard as she tried, Victoria couldn't completely keep from thinking about what the alcalde might have planned for her. The charges were_ true_, if you looked at them in a certain way: she had been alone with Zorro, and more than once. She had helped him...sort of...if you counted that time she had kept the Russian baby while Zorro fought his way to the child's parents at the mission. And Zorro had gotten her out of jail twice.

What could Luis Ramone have, though, that he could bring before a jury or the magistrate? What evidence? Especially since her 'consorting' was so _trivial._

And yes, she would have done more, if Zorro ever asked. And she'd enjoyed those few times they had spoken. And she did long remove that mask and discover, perhaps, if Zorro was more handsome than Diego -

But none of that mattered. None of that mattered. You arrested people for crimes, not thoughts and feelings. Victoria paid her taxes (though she complained about them) and she followed the laws (though occasionally she mocked them) and she, herself, had never fought lancers or stopped a public whipping (the fact that she _would_ do those things if she could was not the point).

She paced the little cell and watched the shadows cross the floor. She tried to read Diego's book of poetry, but found she couldn't sit still.

Supper wasn't the usual beans and dry cornbread offered to prisoners. Instead Mendoza brought a platter from the tavern; chicken and rice, vegetable stew, potatoes. There was even a mug of wine and flan for desert.

When she was finished eating she was conducted nicely to the larine. When she returned to the cell, though, the alcalde was waiting. He courteously asked after her comfort, apologized for the inconvenience, and ordered Mendoza to tie her hand and foot and gag her.

It was an outrage, but it wasn't one of the _usual_ outrages, and that terrified her. The alcalde wasn't being cruel or greedy or angry. He had something in mind, something clever, and whatever it was, it probably had nothing to do with any 'crimes' Victoria had or had not committed. The knot of fear in her belly twisted and gnawed at her.

And then Professor Wayne arrived. He still didn't look as though he'd slept. He blinked owlishly at Victoria and said, "She doesn't look very comfortable."

The alcalde shrugged. "She's perfectly safe. And I don't imagine we'll need to inconvenience her for more than a few hours." He turned and gave Victoria a happy smile.

Zorro. The anxious flutter in her stomach resolved into a hard knot. They had laid a trap for Zorro, and she was only bait. Victoria found herself wishing the alcalde was happily listing her crimes and gloating about her punishment. _Well, whatever it is, it won't work. You will never catch him._ But it wasn't the same, not being able to say it out loud.

And - it wouldn't work, would it? Wayne was very clever, but so was Zorro. And Zorro would guess it was a trap. He'd be ready, wouldn't he?

The alcalde placed two lighted lamps in his office, cracked the door connecting it to the cells, and closed the door most of the way.

For - how long? an hour? more? - the three of them waited in silence. Then there was a soft thump from the roof. A raccoon? A cat? Hopefully. Hopefully not Zorro.

The alcalde and Wayne shared a delighted look. Wayne lifted a strange device over his face and a woman's voice came out of it. "No!" it said. "I don't know anything! Don't! Please!"

The alcalde applauded silently, a blissful smile on his face.

"Don't! Please! I don't know!"

Shouting through the doorway, the alcalde responded, "Senorita Escalante, if you continue to protect this criminal, I will charge you as an accomplice and hang you as a traitor! Tell me who he is!"

"But I know nothing! You must...You must believe me."

That was supposed to be her? Begging and whimpering melodramatically? Surely, surely Zorro would not be fooled by that. Surely.

He might.

Victoria closed her eyes and chewed the gag.

"Stop! Please! I don't know!"

Something slammed hard into the outer door of the main office. "Zorro!" Someone shouted. "It's Zorro! Guards!"

The alcalde and Wayne jumped and looked at each other, but didn't move.

"Get him! Get him! Get - "

"Where is he?"

Over the shouting outside, Wayne said through his device, "Zorro will save me! You'll see!"

There was shouting and running outside. Someone's musket fired.

Victoria pulled against the rope holding her hands, but they were tight enough that she couldn't get any leverage at all.

The door of the alcalde's office crashed open - and for a moment it sounded like a riot - no, worse, a war. The painful crack of guns in a small space, thuds, hisses, yelling -

And then the outer room was silent.

Slowly, the alcalde pushed open the door. The blank silence. The strong, bitter smell of spent gun powder.

Wayne was nearly hopping with excitement. "Oh, terrific! Terrific! All my devices worked just as I planned."

_Zorro_.

"Mendoza? Mendoza!" the alcalde bellowed.

"Yes...Alcalde?"

"You idiot! You dunce! We got the wrong man. This is not Zorro."

"Zorro is right out there..." Mendoza offered. Victoria would have laughed if she could.

Wayne and the alcalde went running out the door. Zorro was surely long gone.

She leaned back, breathing hard around the gag. Zorro was gone. They'd never catch him.

A shadow blocked the light from the door and she looked up. Zorro slipped into the room and shut the door behind him. In the darkness he was more shadow than man as he crossed the chamber in three swift strides. The door to the cell was already unlocked. He reached behind her and she felt his large, gloved hand close around her wrists. Obligingly, she twisted around so he could see what he was doing. The cords gave with a snap.

Her hands were aching and awkward, but she reached up to claw at the gag. "Zorro, it's a trap," she gasped hoarsely.

He seemed to smile. "For them," he answered cheerfully. Victoria found herself smiling back.

He squatted down and cut the twine holding her ankles. "Have you been hurt?"

Her wrists burned and her shoulders ached. The corners of her mouth were raw. Oddly, so were her throat and eyes. But no, she hadn't been hurt. She shook her head. She just wanted this to be over... which brought another thought to mind. "What - um, what happens now? Where will you take me?"

"Nowhere, but I'll need your help."

That made no sense at all. "_My_ help?"

He stood up and stepped back. "Yell. Make them come back."

Oh. As he disappeared into the shadows, she called out, "Zorro! Help! Over here! Hurry, before they come back!" She had to swallow. "Quick, Zorro! Hurry! Oh, please, you must cut these ropes!"

The alcalde and Wayne charged through the door. They nearly tripped over their feet stopping when they ran into the flat of Zorro's sword.

Zorro's hand was attached to it. He stepped out of the shadow. "You really should do something about your office, Alcalde. It's quite a mess."

The sword was still resting across his chest. The alcalde didn't move, but he nearly vibrated with anger. "I _had_ you. You were dead."

"It's only your own sergeant who would have died, if he'd gone through that door upright."

The alcalde lost his restraint completely, then, and began to snarl curses and threats. He stopped again when Zorro angled the sword closer to his throat.

"Senorita, if you would step this way? Thank you. Now. Gentlemen. If you trouble this honest businesswoman again, there will be a mess in your office that _can't_ be cleaned up. Surely your little game isn't worth bringing down a spectacularly public humiliation." He lightly removed the alcalde's pistol from its holster. "This way, if you wouldn't mind?" Cheerfully, politely, he guided them into the cell Victoria had vacated and locked the door.

They exited out through the cuartel yard. Although there was a great deal of yelling and running around outside, there was only one guard here within the walls. Zorro disarmed and dropped him without even using his sword.

He took her hand and let her through the gate, where he paused to listen for a moment. All Victoria could hear was the alcalde hollering for Mendoza far behind her. Zorro drew her in front of him, whispered in her ear. "Do you see that wagon? Walk there slowly. I'll see you get there."

"But - "

"You must trust me. Go now."

So she walked toward the edge of town, pretending she was just going to the fountain or over to the church for confession or to buy some thread...

The lancers shouted to each other, searching for Zorro, getting more and more frantic. But her outline was a woman. The man posted at the fountain barely gave her a look.

The cart to which Zorro had sent her was pulled by a mule. As she approached Victoria recognized the driver as the parish priest and the two people sitting in the back as the church warden and the elderly woman who cleaned the rectory three times a week.

"Can we offer you a ride, Senorita? We are spending the night at a friend's house outside of town."

Oh. Yes. That was a very good idea. Genius. When the alcalde calmed down he would not do anything rash. At least not unless he had a good reason to think he would win the next confrontation with Zorro...but tonight, just now, he might well be furious enough just shoot her, never mind the consequences. How had Zorro managed it? Obviously it wasn't a coincidence. But she only said politely, "Thank you. That's very kind." She climbed onto the seat and Father Benitez lifted the reins.

"So who is the favorite in tomorrow's horse race?" the little priest asked cheerfully.

"Zeus," Victoria answered immediately, grateful to have an innocent topic to talk about. She could not bear to talk about what had happened in the jail, or her role in endangering Zorro. "Firstar is fast, but Zeus has more experience...and there is a little boy riding Firestar."

Just as they passed under the gate that announced the chartered town Our Lady, the Queen of the Angles, there came a distant shout of, "There he is! Get him!" and the _bang _of a fired musket. Father Benitez sighed. "Well. They won't be getting much rest tonight. And the alcalde works them so hard."

"The soldiers?" Victoria looked back as a half a dozen mounted men came charging out of the cuartel gates. "Father, how did you - ? Why - ?" She folded her hands in her lap and smiled, and firmly abandoned her most important questions. "Where are we going?"

"An acquaintance suggested the mission," and by his tone it was clear that he meant Zorro, "But that will put us on the road rather a long time, and I think this is not the night for it. Instead, I will visit my dear friend Don Diego. Not quite so far north, you see."

The cart bumped and swayed along the road. The sounds of the searching lancers faded into the distance. The mule was steady, if not fast. Victoria looked up at the stars and prayed that Zorro escaped safely.

Don Alejandro opened the door himself. He was wearing a dressing gown and carrying a candle and he looked at the four people clustered at his door with astonishment. Then, almost stumbling in his hurry, he stepped backward and ushered them in, at the same time bellowing for someone to come take care of the mule.

Father Benitez cheerfully apologized for appearing so late. "Zorro, again. The fort is in a bit of an uproar, understandably. I was hoping we could prevail on your hospitality."

Don Alejandro looked at Victoria. "Of course. Will anyone...else be dropping by?"

"Oh, I think not. After due investigation, no evidence was found against the senorita. The government dropped its case and released her."

Victoria almost contradicted that, but she remembered Zorro's threats to the alcalde. Yes, surely there were no charges against her.

She heard a sharp gasp and turned toward the hall. Diego was staring at her in astonishment, one large hand tightly gripping Felipe's shoulder. Both of them looked horrified. "Has...something happened," Diego asked unsteadily.

"Oh, no, no!" Father Benitez said quickly. "Not at all. As far as I am aware, everything is just fine. No, no, we were just out for a drive, since there is no quiet in town tonight. We thought we might drop by. I do apologize for the late hour. I hate to put you out."

Diego hurried forward, his hands outspread, his surprise and distress vanished as though they had never been. "Not at all! Don't be silly. It's no trouble. Felipe, fetch Maria and then take Carlito and Elizabeth into the kitchen for a snack. We have plenty of room."

"Yes, of course," Don Alejandro agreed. "Where are my manners. Victoria, have you eaten? Can I offer either of you a glass of wine?" He offered Victoria his arm, and as he drew her in, lowered his voice to add, "I do want to hear the whole story, my dear."

Father Benitez was saying something very quietly to Diego, but Victoria couldn't hear it.

**Gilberto**

Felipe was waiting when Zorro returned to the cave. That was unusual, but not worrisome. If Diego were in trouble, Felipe would be with him.

The boy swiftly unsaddled Toronado and rubbed him down while Gilberto changed and scrubbed his face and neck with a scrap of clean cloth. When he felt like the son of a gentleman instead of a bandit, he turned back to Felipe. "Well? How are things?"

"The priest and Victoria are here."

_Not_ according to plan. "They were supposed to be at the mission. Tell me they weren't chased here."

Felipe shook his head. "It was later than he expected, and he was worried about the lancers. The...mood worried him. He didn't want to be on the road that long."

"He's exposed us."

Felipe shook his head. "Your father is one of Victoria's closest friends. It would be odd if she didn't come here, I think. This is better."

"How's Diego?"

"He was still talking with Victoria when I left him. He said you went to bed with a headache, by the way. That's why you didn't come out."

"Yes, all right. You check to make sure the coast is clear, then, before I slip back to my room." Gilberto frowned. "He shouldn't still be up. He still has two paragraphs to set tomorrow morning and the paper to run."

Felipe snorted at him. "It's Victoria," he said.

~tbc

_Thanks to everybody who has reviewed! I have about 75 regular readers now, up from about 50 when I started. Wow, and I see **India** on the location list now. India! How cool is that? _


	9. November 9, 1814

**November 9, 1814**

**Diego **

Diego watched Felipe and Nicholas leave with their stacks of newly-printed papers. He paid his pressman. He looked at the plates, waiting to have their type removed...and he sat down at the desk instead of rushing back to work.

Alone, he didn't have to conceal his exhaustion. Some Wednesdays were miserable. He wanted to crawl into bed and go to sleep, but his bed was two miles away, and Diego would have to rest before he could sit on a horse...

He thought longingly of the house in town. The future house in town. The workers had broken ground yesterday. Diego should go over and take a look at it, another thing to do today.

_Last _week, of course, had been worse. He had stopped working at the paper before supper, but then he'd stayed up late talking to Victoria and rushed out early to set the last couple of paragraphs, all the while thanking God that the story ended with the charges being dropped and Victoria being released rather than some other (dreadful) outcome. About Zorro he only said that he was rumored to have appeared in the pueblo. He always glossed over Zorro's triumphs. Zorro was_ news_, of course, but eyewitness accounts were often conflicting and it would be dangerous to inflate the alcalde's anger. Gilberto provoked him enough without the newspaper's help.

The news this week had not been nearly so interesting. Fortunately. Wayne and Ramone had been shut up inside the cuartel with most of the soldiers for days. No one had gotten a look at what they were doing, but from their (extraordinary and large) purchases it was clear they were attempting to build a hot air balloon.

A hot air balloon. Diego chuckled softly at that, but couldn't have said if the laughter was joy at the adventure of the experiment or contempt for its purpose. A balloon? To catch Zorro? The alcalde would never have the courage to take a tethered balloon high enough...And if they actually tried releasing it, Zorro would only have to ride upwind.

Ramone was so desperate to catch Zorro. Too bad he wasn't desperate to be a good administrator or foster prosperity in Los Angeles.

A knock at the door. Diego realized his eyes had drifted shut when he had to open them. "Victoria." He smiled.

"The paper is excellent today," she said cheerfully. She was carrying a glass of orange juice and a plate of sausages and cheese.

"Kind of you to say, but there was very little news this week. There was an awful lot of poetry in this issue..."

"Well, not every paper can be as exciting as last week's." She made a little face.

Diego pretended not to know what she meant. "It was very convenient having the schedule of events for the festival in the paper." But he had missed all of the events on Tuesday. He'd gone home for a short nap - and slept all day.

"But a week after the horse race, everyone has heard the story and it would be silly to put it in the paper. Or the flag that caught fire during the precession." She patted his hand with exaggerated sympathy. "You know, I have heard that some cities have a _daily_ paper?"

Diego took a swallow of juice. "Perish the thought. And can you imagine what life would be like if we had enough news for a daily paper?"

She shuddered. "Come to think of it, we should be grateful that the alcalde doesn't have the energy to do something newsworthy every day...Speaking of news, everyone is talking about the house your father is building."

"I was going to take a look today." He stood gingerly, but the room held steady. He smiled. "Want to come?"

"Why thank you," she said. "But what I really want to know is what Gilberto did."

"Did?" He opened the door for her.

"To get thrown out by your father!" she laughed.

Victoria and Gilberto had very little tolerance for one another - for reasons that were completely understandable. 'Berto, growing up, had been arrogant and high-handed, especially given that she was younger, not nearly as rich, and female. On her part, Victoria had never been impressed by Gilberto's airs, and she never considered his attempts to 'behave himself' genuine. "He has many sterling qualities," Diego protested, not really expecting to change her mind.

She considered that. "I admit...he is not as bad as he used to be."

"Forgiveness and generosity of spirit are virtues."

"He has them?"

"You should."

She sighed. "You always ask us to behave. And we _try_. But Diego... He will say something. Or I will say something. It always ends the same way."

And Diego always wound up in the middle, listening to them snap at each other. It would have been worse if they meant each other any real harm. He patted her arm to show he didn't mind.

In the plaza they met Luis and Carlotta Christobal. It was the first time they'd been in town since the wedding. "We won't be traveling for a while," Dona Carlotta said, sounding very pleased, "I wanted to see my sister while I could."

She did not say anything about missing her brother. Diego could hardly blame her. Her brother was a...difficult personality. He wasn't particularly kind, even to his own family. Except for his engagement to Senorita Amanda, Don Emilio had kept himself largely out of sight since his disastrous attempt to circumvent his father's will.

Diego had no idea how much Carlotta Christobal knew about her brother's bad behavior, and it wasn't something to talk about in any case. They kept the short conversation light. Don Luis was very complimentary about the newspaper. Dona Carlotta encouraged them to visit Santa Barbara.

In a few minutes they said their goodbyes and continued across the plaza toward the edge of town. Victoria was frowning. Diego tried to think back; how well did Victoria and Carlotta get along? They had all been children together, but that was so long ago, and Diego had been older than Victoria and the Pascal girls. "Is something bothering you?" he asked. "How do things stand between you and Dona Carlotta?"

She blinked up at him. "What? Oh. Just fine, I suppose. She's a sweet girl. Why?"

"Well, something is bothering you."

She glanced back over her shoulder and then sighed. "She is going to be a mother."

Diego was slightly scandalized; Victoria was normally more proper than to talk about that sort of thing to a young, unmarried man. "It seems so," he said carefully.

"I don't...envy her, not exactly," Victoria said very quietly. "But I would like to have a family of my own."

Oh. Diego could certainly sympathize with that. But while the problem was insolvable for him, it was not so for her. "You could...do something about that."

She sighed. "Get married, you mean."

Diego managed a smile that he thought was more or less convincing. "You are the right age, with a good family, a good reputation, and a very good dowry. You are also an honest and honorable, hardworking, compassionate woman." _The most beautiful woman I have ever seen and the treasure of this pueblo_. Diego kept his eyes straight ahead. His mouth had gone very dry. "You would have men lined up, if you announced you were looking."

She sighed impatiently. "And what if I did get married? I'd have a husband who would take over the tavern and tell me what to do. Or worse, marry a rancher who would sell the tavern or turn it over to a manager and take me to live miles from town? Is that the trade I'd have to make for a family? For children? Is that a trade I want to make?"

Diego had spent most of the last two years trying to reconcile himself to the fact that he would _not_ marry. He still had to work to put it out of his mind, the unyielding fact that he could not marry this very woman. But now he wondered: would marriage seem so attractive if he had to trade all of his freedom and independence for it? If he were required to 'obey,' rather than just to 'cherish' wouldn't he be at least a little ambivalent, too?

Of course, Diego had neither freedom nor independence. He had lost that to his illness along with all hopes of his own family or a future. "If you were my wife, I would let you do whatever you wanted." He said the words without thinking, but they were true, and he wouldn't take them back even if he could.

Victoria's answer was just as quick and seemed as thoughtless. "If you were available, I wouldn't be worrying."

The pain that blossomed in Diego's chest had nothing to do with his weak heart. Her hand was on his arm, a gesture of very formal companionship. He lifted his other hand and covered hers where it lay. They walked on another few steps. Diego said, "The only solution I can see is to marry Zorro. He constantly being chased by the lancers. His visits would be so short there would never be time to tell you what to do."

He wasn't looking toward her, but from the corner of his eye he saw her head spin toward him. And then she began to laugh. She laughed so hard she had to stop walking.

"Victoria," he began.

She shook her head, still laughing. "No. Please. Zorro is," giggles overcame her again. "Zorro is marvelous, and I - Oh, but can you imagine the wedding? The alcalde - The priest - " Her laughter died as quickly as it rose. "I know Zorro is impossible," she said sadly. "I can't help thinking about it. But I know..."

Diego looked at her pityingly. "You know that a romantic figure is not the same thing as having a family?"

She seemed to wilt even further. "I don't know what I want," she said. "I want _everything_. I want - love. and romance. and children and a home. and freedom. And I know I can't have it all, or maybe any of it."

"You're young yet - "

"Not _that _young. I'll have to decide in the next few years or I'll be too old..." She had moved in front of him, was looking at him expectantly, as though he had some advice or ideas.

Diego couldn't tell her to marry someone else, and that would clearly be the wrong thing anyway, because she might well be right about how that would end. Helplessly he raised his hands. "I don't now what you should do. I can - I can tell you that _now_ can be very good. Even if you don't have children. Even if you don't have all your problems solved."

She looked at him for a long moment. "Now can be very good," she agreed. She took his arm again. "Let's go look at that house."

"There won't be much to see." He was relieved at the change of subject. "It's mostly dirt at this point."

And it was, but it was flattened dirt marked off by pegs and strings. In one section two men were digging out a wine cellar. On the other side long posts were being unloaded from a wagon.

"It's large," Victoria said.

"It will look smaller with walls," Diego said. "My first design included a pressroom, but father didn't like it." To put it mildly. He had absolutely refused to let Diego live above a business like a tradesman. Really, it was the most snobbish Diego had ever seen him. "Part of it will be two stories. And see? There will be room in the front for a rose garden."

"That room there..." she pointed. "It looks huge."

"We haven't settled on where to put the interior walls yet."

"A minor detail that hasn't hindered your getting started."

Diego smiled. "Well, you have met my father."

"Now that you mention it, I'm surprised it isn't finished already. The men have been working, what? A week?"

Diego thought longingly of a bed that was not two miles from town. "It seems to be taking forever," he said. "But since this house isn't finished yet, I'll just have to go home."

**Gilberto **

Juan was getting old. Not so old he couldn't haul a heifer out of a shallow marsh, but old enough to be getting slower at it. Not that Juan would admit it. Not that Father was in any hurry to retire the man.

But.

Juan was slowing down and he couldn't do this job forever. And in a few years - too few - Father would have to retire him, or at least salve his pride and shift him to something less demanding. And _then_ who was going to be foreman?

Gilberto was the obvious choice, if for no other reason than he was old enough and the only healthy son. And somewhere inside he desperately hoped that Father believed he could do it. Unless Zorro was retired by then, though, Gilberto simply would not have the time!

How long? Two years? Three? Juan would resist being removed, so maybe even four. What were the chances Luis Ramone would be reassigned by then? Or quit? Or get run over by a carriage in the plaza?

Filthy from a day on the range, Gilberto stripped off his work clothes and made good use of the water buckets Pepe had left in his room. Mud was everywhere: Juan hadn't been the only one rescuing wayward cattle.

Cleaner (and much better smelling), Gilberto went in search of Diego. He found him at a table in the back garden, looking over Felipe's schoolwork. "How was the newspaper?"

"Sixty-five copies, printed on time, all sold, and not at all embarrassing, unless you count the quarter-page of poetry."

"It is hardly something for you to be embarrassed about, if there isn't enough news," Gilberto said, sitting down across the table from him. Diego had a glass of wine beside him. Gilberto helped himself. "If you don't like the poetry, though, you might include articles on history. Or science. Anything interesting in Wayne's journals?"

"I've only had time to read one, what with everything going on. And not history. If poetry is embarrassing, history," he made a face, "I don't want people reading the paper and making jokes about old news."

"Suit yourself. Father back yet?"

"No. He probably stopped in town on the way back from San Pedro."

"Oh, right. How does the house look?"

"It is the nicest arrangement of string I've ever seen."

"And you're supposed to be the patient one." Diego's color was good. As far as Gilberto could tell, he was alert and comfortable. There was something about his eyes, though. Whatever it was, he was neither talking about it nor brooding about it; it might be best to leave it alone.

Diego, of course, knew what he was thinking. "Leave it alone," he said.

"Will it still be bothering you tomorrow?"

"It's nothing we can do anything about." At Gilberto's implacable look, he added, "Victoria is unhappy. She wants to be married, but she doesn't have evidence that anyone she _can_ marry would treat her with the basic dignity of a human being."

Sensible. But he didn't say it. "And love doesn't enter into it."

A hesitation. He was unsure. "I think she might love Zorro. And he is out of reach."

Gilberto shook his head and switched to sign. "You, then: your idea, and all his best plans are yours."

Diego looked away, answering aloud. "So. Completely hopeless." His voice was cheerful. His eyes were shining.

Gilberto took a deep breath. "I'm only going to say this once."

"You've been hinting at it for a year."

"Marry her now."

"People would say she was the worst kind of mercenary."

"They would be wrong, and you would know it. You're strong enough. My God, Diego, you're strong enough to beat me at fencing. If it's children you're worried about - "

"Well, of course I am. But even worse - It's not going to last forever, you know. And I'm probably not going to die suddenly. It's bad enough, knowing all of you will have to watch, day after day, while I ...No. I've done that once already. I've done it to _you_ twice. Shall I do that to her, too? Shall I put her in the position of nursing me? I cannot do it, Gilberto."

Gilberto stood up and turned around so he would not give in to the impulse to slap him. It was unfair to be angry; Diego was trying to do the right thing. That he was being stupid and cowardly -

"Is it mother you're thinking of?" Gilberto asked.

"Some."

"I wish I had been braver for her. I _will_ be braver for you. And if you're thinking of ways to 'spare' me your hypothetical - "

"Probable."

" - future suffering, don't." Gilberto turned around. "As bad as it may be - "

"_Will _be."

"- I will not run away and hide when you need me. I won't fail you. That is my choice. Don't try to take it from me."

For a moment Diego had that stubborn look. He even opened his mouth to correct some point Gilberto hadn't thought of or understood poorly. But then his eyes narrowed in suspicion and his coldness drained away. "You didn't fail mother. She barely even knew us at the end. And you were twelve."

Gilberto's mouth went dry. "This is not about me. Don't change the subject." Although he was the one who started in that direction...

"Fine. This is my final word. I will not ask Victoria to share my fate." He stood up to leave, but Father strode into the garden just then. He was still carrying his hat.

"I've just come from town. Diego - that friend of yours, Senor Wayne. You'd best sit down, son."

Diego sat back down, but on the edge of the chair. "What's happened?"

"He's been arrested for defrauding the government. He is to be whipped tomorrow at noon."

Surprised, Gilberto said, "That's not the usual punishment for fraud."

"No, that should go before the magistrate. And he should be here any day. I can only imagine Ramone doesn't have the evidence to get jail time, so he's settling for this." He set his hat on the table and crossed his arms. "Well. That would be my guess, if it wasn't pretty clear this is just another attempt to capture Zorro."

The hairs on the back of his neck rose whenever Gilberto found himself in a conversation with his Father about Zorro. He didn't swallow or look away, only said, "He never can seem to resist interrupting a public flogging."

Father turned to Diego. "You're on good terms with Wayne, and he has no family here in town."

Diego rose briskly. "I'll ask Maria to prepare a jail basket."

"Are you feeling well enough to go into town?"

"I'll take the carriage. Probably he won't allow visitors, but I should try, just the same." And, of course, he would use this opportunity to scout out how things stood within the fort. Gilberto approved.

_~TBC_


	10. November 10, 1814

**November 10, 1814**

**Zorro**

He had gone to bed early the night before and ridden out on Viking well before dawn. He only went as far as the ravine entrance to the cave, though. He exchanged Viking for Toronado and Don Gilberto's clothing for Zorro's and went back out again. Before dawn he slipped Toronado into the old mill behind the tavern (a few months earlier or later and the mill would be operating, but Wayne had picked an excellent time to visit town).

He had packed grain for Toronado and bread and cheese for himself. They snacked, and then Gilberto settled down with a book. Noon was a long way off.

A public whipping always brought a crowd - even more, now that it was usually an occasion to see Zorro rather than just watch some unlucky sod get a whipping. When the noise outside started to build, he crept out onto the roof of the mill. From there it was just a couple of easy hops to the roof of the tavern.

He crept carefully to the peek of the roof. To his delight, they were inflating the balloon in the square rather than within the cuartel walls. He hadn't expected this, but he understood it: there was less open space inside the fort and it wasn't completely secure anyway. The last whipping Zorro had interrupted had taken place in the cuartel courtyard. Zorro had pelted them with nasty smoke bombs. That had been as unpleasant for the victim as for the soldiers, but he hadn't complained.

Since the balloon was in the open, Gilberto would not need the little crossbow he'd brought. Good news, since it might have taken a number of strikes to cut the tether. Zorro grinned. The lancers were milling around the balloon, which was nearly inflated. The chaos wasn't helped by the fact that the alcalde appeared to be giving conflicting orders.

Wayne was already tied to a post. He looked haggard and terrified. Well, it would be a short wait for him. Yes, the balloon was starting to bounce a bit against its tethers. The alcalde was ordering Mendoza into the balloon...and getting in himself. Ah.

Zorro slid down Victoria's roof and skipped back to the mill. Toronado stamped impatiently below: he could hear the lancers, and by now he knew what was coming. "Yes," Zorro patted the silky shoulder. "Let's get to work. Finally." He mounted up.

The situation in the plaza had not changed in the intervening minute. The lancers who weren't fussing over the balloon or milling around in confusion were standing ready to confront Zorro when he came to rescue Wayne. Since the alcalde was busy, the whip had gone to poor Sepulveda, who was pacing back and forth looking around hopefully for Zorro.

Everyone was looking in directions Zorro would have to come if his target was the whipping post. Consequently, Toronado was half-way across the plaza before anyone spotted them and let out a warning. The lancers tripped over their feet trying to get turned around.

He pulled Toronado into a hard turn, which put the bulk of the balloon between them and the armed men. Angling close to the basket, Zorro made two quick strikes with his sword. The ropes holding the balloon parted and it rose with astonishing swiftness.

Toronado shied, dancing back. Zorro pulled up on the reins and turned him to the left. The alcalde was yelling for the lancers, most of whom had dropped their rifles in their frantic rush to try to grab the balloon which was already above their heads. It was utter chaos. Zorro urged Toronado forward, knocked a lancer out of the way with a hard kick to his stomach, and swung his sword one more time as he rushed the whipping post. The ropes holding Wayne parted and Toronado had a moment's stumble trying to avoid trampling his falling body.

"It's Zorro," Sepulveda yelled. "Now! Now!"

A dozen mounted lancers poured out of the cuartel. Toronado broke for the edge of town. As they turned onto the road, Zorro glanced up. The balloon was moving steadily west. Zorro laughed and turned due north.

**Diego**

Most of the plaza was filled with the half-inflated envelope. Dear God, it was huge. Diego's breath caught, and Felipe, seated behind him in the rig, reached out nervously with one hand and crossed himself with the other. Diego patted him reassuringly, but he was terribly awed himself. They had both read the descriptions, but they hadn't been prepared.

They left the rig tied up in front of the church, since the sight of the balloon would surely spook the horses and joined the small crowd gathered in the square. Everyone kept to the edges and the tavern porch was very crowded. Diego stepped up beside Victoria. "It's marvelous," he said. "Wayne is a genius. And he did it in a week..."

"Your 'genius' is about to be whipped," she snapped.

The envelope was completely erect now and the balloon strained slightly at its ropes. Embarrassingly, given the topic of conversation, Diego couldn't quite erase the smile from his face. "You know the alcalde better than that."

"I know he likes public discipline," she said indignantly.

"Yes, and yet he has just handed the whip to Sepulveda." Diego tisked. "Poor man. This can't be what he enlisted for. But look." The alcalde was prodding a reluctant Mendoza into the basket. Diego felt a nearly unbearable stab of envy. He wondered if the basket would carry three...

But no, he had his own role to play in this. He took a steadying breath and forced himself to look away.

Victoria laid a hand on his arm. "Are you all right?" she whispered.

He pointed at the balloon. "You are about to see something that most people never do, not in their whole lives."

She scowled suspiciously. "What does it do, really?"

"If it works, it will fly."

"Yes," she said sourly. "That is what one of the lancers said. What does it really do?"

Diego grinned. "Really, honestly. It flies."

"The alcalde doesn't have that kind of courage, and flying...would be stupidly dangerous."

_Dangerous_, Diego agreed with a pang of longing. _Stupidly dangerous. And yet..._ He had always wanted to fly.

There was a shout. Diego looked up in time to see Zorro bearing down on the balloon. His sword flashed and parted the ground line and the rope attached to the winch. The balloon bounced gently and then drifted upward and to the left, knocking a lancer to the ground. The movement was smooth and fairly swift. How amazing that something so large could make absolutely no noise.

Beside Diego Victoria gasped.

The alcalde was twenty feet in the air now, screaming for the lancers which scrambled madly, trying to grab a dangling rope. The balloon passed over the heads of the scattering crowd and nearly clipped the roof of the general store.

Diego tore his eyes away from the amazing sight. Zorro was already out of town and heading for open country, a squad of lancers chasing behind him. Meanwhile, in the plaza, Sepulveda was shouting instructions to the remaining men. In the confusion, he was having a hard time getting their attention, so he was having to grab them almost one at a time. "To horse, to horse!" he was shouting. "We have to follow them!"

Diego looked up at the balloon and sighed. He wondered what the world looked like from that height. How far could Luis Ramone see right now? Unfair. There couldn't be a man alive who deserved this miracle less.

He squeezed Victoria's hand and stepped off the porch, headed to the whipping post where Wayne was dusting himself off and looking around in bewilderment. His shirt and topcoat were folded up on the edge of the fountain. Diego retrieved them and carried them over.

Wayne looked at his clothing. He looked at Diego. His skin was grayish and his eyes were wild. Well. He had probably never been arrested before, let alone threatened with torture. Diego laid a hand on his arm and gently turned him around so he was facing his balloon. It was well outside of town, now, and so high that you couldn't quite make out the faces looking down. "It's wonderful," Diego said.

"Incredible," Wayne whispered. "How splendid!" He sighed. "It's a shame..."

"Yes. If only we could take their place."

"How fast do you think they're moving?"

"Not very," Diego answered. "The strong winds won't come until evening. They might run out of fuel before they hit the coast. Whatever happens, it will be hours before they get back to town. The alcalde hasn't paid you, has he?"

"No. The job wasn't completed..."

"Good. One less reason to look for you. By now Felipe will be getting your horses from the livery. If you leave now, you can make the Mission San Juan Capistrano tonight. I wouldn't stay there, of course. Keep going south - it isn't safe to head east without a lot of water and a guide."

Wayne finally reached out to take his clothes. "I don't know what to say."

Diego looked back at the balloon. It was very high and far enough away now that it was hard to make out the basket. "I would say that it was a terrible shame to use your marvelous creation in the service of oppression." The words were cruel but the tone was not. "Science is important, but compassion and justice are more so." He walked Wayne to his cart, which was standing at the edge of town, at the rear of the smithy. Felipe was hitching up Wayne's horses.

Wayne gave Diego a long, confused look. "I can't begin to thank you," he said.

Diego smiled gently. "Get quickly away from there and be more careful in the future."

**Zorro**

He wasn't tempted to toy with the lancers. He found his thoughts going back again and again to that balloon. He wanted to see it again - much to his chagrin. Diego must be rubbing off on him. He put a little distance between himself and his pursuers and lost them in the rocks about half a mile outside of town.

For a few minutes he waited, quiet, letting Toronado rest, letting the lancers get further away. Then, at a gallop, they circled north, going around the pueblo. He knew how the winds blew this time of day and he had grown up in this land. He could see where the balloon would come out -

He came across it too soon, and too far north. Cresting a low ridge he looked out over a wheat field owned by Don Carlos, and further away, a grove of apple trees, and beyond that, a speck in the distance, was the tiny curve of a balloon. He reined in and gaped at it. He took his small telescope from the saddle bag, not that he really expected there to be more than one set of aerialists in California...

No mistake. Wayne's balloon.

He could feel the wind here on the ground. He could see the clouds moving in the sky. And there was the balloon, moving differently from either.

That was odd. And interesting. And given the rate and direction it was moving, it would pass over a shallow marsh just south of mission land. This time of year, the following lancers would have to go around.

Grinning, Zorro nudged Toronado forward on a new course. If he balloon kept the same speed, he would intercept it at the coast. Assuming it didn't run out of fuel first or that idiot Ramone didn't figure out how to bring the balloon down.

Toronado settled into an easy gait across the fields, angling northwest. It was a good thing he was such a reliable mount, because most of Gilberto's attention was on the balloon. Land belonging to Don Carlos, the mission, the abandoned Sanchez plantation. The balloon was losing altitude, but it was clear that it wouldn't come down soon enough to miss an unhappy landing in the pacific. Especially considering that in the cooler air over the water, the balloon would rise again.

Toronado reached the cliffs over the ocean a few moments before the balloon passed over head, drifting at the speed of a fast walk. If Gilberto had reached up, the basket would almost have passed with in touching distance. He looked at the drop to the narrow beach below, and sighing, retrieved the small crossbow from his saddlebag.

From above, Mendoza hollered, "Zorro!" It sounded as much a plea for help as an announcement. There was nothing for it. If Ramone drowned it would be no loss, but Diego would never forgive him if he got Mendoza killed. He popped a thick dart into the notch.

"God have mercy!" Ramone screamed. "He's going to kill me."

Zorro lined up his shot and pulled the trigger. The dart struck the taunt envelope with the sound of tearing cloth. A moment later the balloon leveled off and then began to sink. The envelope slowly distorted and sagged to the left. The basket touched the water a few yards out from the foaming shore. It tipped at once, dropping both men into the waves. Zorro took out the spyglass for the best view as they floundered, bedraggled and gasping, to shore.

The envelope slowly collapsed into the waves. In under a minute, Wayne's magnificent airship was just floating, wet silk. Unaccountably melancholy, Gilberto walked Toronado until he saw the lancers come over the hill. They were looking for the wayward balloon not for him, but he turned east anyway and nudged Toronado into an easy trot.

_~tbc_


	11. November 19, 1814

_Not mine. No profit._

_Thanks again to Martha for her patience with my little detour into Zorro._

_Thanks (as always) to Pam, whose diligence makes it sooooo much easier._

_This chapter is for Arianka - who was asking for this plot...um this week, actually, so how's that for irony!_

**November 19, 1814**

**Felipe**

Things were much quieter in Los Angeles after Professor Wayne left, and Felipe enjoyed it. The alcalde retreated to his own little house outside of town, and Mendoza had a wonderful time telling his amazing story over and over in the tavern. There was no work for Zorro, so Gilberto checked on bees and cattle, visited the neighbors, and caught up on sleep. Diego spent the days writing, working on the plans for the new house, sketching little pictures of balloons, and - always - working on the newspaper.

The astounding story of (possibly) the first airship in the New World took up the whole front page of the next Guardian. Diego's article lavishly praised the alcalde's dedication to science and innovation; his foresight, his personal courage, his generosity in funding the experiment personally, and so on, and so on. Written out that way, the spectacular and amusing disaster was an unprecedented achievement. The fact that the heroic effort failed to result in Zorro's capture was mentioned at the end and hardly seemed important.

Don Alejandro alternated his days between checking the fields and pastures and visiting the new house site in the pueblo. Some days he took Gilberto with him. Today, Gilberto and Diego had spent the morning working on the books and in the afternoon they slipped off with Felipe to the shearing shed for a lesson.

The practice sword felt natural in Felipe's hand by now, but Gilberto always got through his defense. And he never knew where to attack. And sometimes he forgot and crossed his feet. He would feel discouraged about it all, but his teacher was Zorro. Anyone would look like a klutz next to him.

Diego usually watched from a battered three-legged stool in the corner. Gilberto was master here, and Diego understood that he couldn't work if his brother was always butting in, so he usually stayed silent. Today though, a quarter hour into the lesson, he stood up and motioned for them to stop. "May I?"

Gilberto snorted. "If you have an idea, go ahead."

"Your form is correct, and your practice makes it more correct," Diego said, circling Felipe thoughtfully. "But you haven't improved in a couple of months."

Felipe offered his practice sword. Diego took it and Felipe said, "I don't practice enough."

"You practice most nights before bed. I think the problem is you are thinking too much."

Thinking too much? Impossible. And surely impossible for _Diego_ of all people to be saying so. Diego hated it when people failed to think.

Gilberto made an odd noise. "More your problem."

Diego nodded. "And I recognize it." He put an arm around Felipe's shoulders. "We learn the forms so that our _bodies_ know what to do. There comes a point when questioning, deciding, analyzing...just gets in the way."

Felipe kept his chin up. Diego wanted miracles, clearly expected them. Not only must he do many complicated, quick things, he must do it without thinking.

"What do we do about it?" Gilberto asked, as though Diego were being completely reasonable. "I remember you singing for a month while you sparred. It won't work for him."

"It should be easier for him," Diego countered. "He is much younger than I was." He turned Felipe toward him. "Do you think about it when you ride? What you must to do stop or turn? No. And you don't think about what you are doing when you run; you don't decide where to put your feet? This is the same."

Felipe shook his head, not in disagreement, but because he didn't understand. Those were simple things.

"What did you have for breakfast this morning?" Gilberto asked. Felipe was only two items into the list when Gilberto caught his hand. "Did you stop to remember the sign for egg?" he asked. "You don't think before you speak, you only say what you are thinking. This is the same. Your body knows the movement for an outside parry just as it knows the word for eggs."

Felipe pulled his hands free. "What if I make the wrong movement?"

"You will. Lots of times. That is how you'll learn."

"But you'll learn faster if you don't try to analyze and question every second."

Wonderful. How simple. He just had to stop thinking.

Diego handed back his sword. He turned to Gilberto. "Faster," he said. "Let's try it if he doesn't have time to think."

Gilberto shook his head once.

"The goal is not for Felipe to win," Diego said gently. "It is only to make him do his best. We might see that if he doesn't have time to question each move."

Gilberto saluted and started in again. And while it went spectacularly badly (Felipe got new bruises on his shins and lower arm) it somehow did _feel _much better. After a rough start, he spent a few minutes maintaining a solid guard...before he suddenly tired and couldn't keep track of where either sword was anymore.

"Better," Diego said. "Much better."

"Sloppy, toward the end," Gilberto said, taking a long drink from the canteen and passing to Felipe. "We need to try something else next time." He rolled his shoulders and took a deep breath. "Shall we have a go while he takes a break?"

Happily, Felipe took the stool and settled in to watch. This was the good part. The tips moved so fast they were blurs. Their blades were always in the right place. And no, they _couldn't_ be stopping to think where their feet were, but you also couldn't say they weren't concentrating, either. The twins sparring embodied a miracle...

Gilberto wasn't being gentle today. He was driving Diego mercilessly back toward the sheep pens. Diego slipped sideways, clearly trying to get a little space. He lost his footing and tumbled backwards -

Except suddenly_ Gilberto_ was on his back on the ground, his brother's sword lying neatly against his neck. The silence after the relentless ring of swords was startling. The twins panted at each other, grinning. Outside the horses shifted and snorted a bit. Felipe realized he had jumped to his feet in alarm when Diego had seemed to fall. He sat down and tried to look nonchalant.

Diego straightened smoothly, releasing his brother, who, freed, started to laugh. "Well, someone has to keep me humble."

Diego snorted and pushed his hair out of his eyes. "You wouldn't know humble if it bit you on the ear." He was badly winded but standing easily. He yielded the practice sword to Felipe, and the lesson continued for another half hour.

On the way home Diego said, "I was thinking of making a painting of the balloon over the pueblo. Perhaps present it as a gift to the alcalde."

Gilberto rolled his eyes. "And you're supposed to be the subtle one! He won't thank you for your generosity in not mocking him in the paper, you know. As useful as that was to him. If you rub it in he might jail you. Again."

"It was magnificent," Diego protested. "I know what he meant it for, but really...it is an achievement he _ought_ to be proud of. I keep thinking of it, rising over the plaza."

"So do I. You know, it didn't go quite the way I expected. The wind..." he looked up "It must be very complex."

"I suppose," Diego agreed. "But how could one study it? Balloons, of course, but manned - it would be absurdly expensive and complicated without a fort's worth of labor...and unmanned," he winced, "when they came down there is the issue of the fire." California had long, dry summers and long distances between bodies of water. Wildfire was a serious danger.

"Kite? I know someone who makes those."

"If that is a request," Diego said.

Z

On Sunday after church, Father Benitez came for lunch. After eating, he and Diego walked through the back garden, discussing herbs and admiring the plants. And then he took Diego aside in a corner of the side courtyard and examined him.

"I was wondering about decreasing the digitalis again," Diego said.

"Not yet, no. Soon, perhaps. You are doing very well."

Diego was quiet. "The underlying condition remains." It was almost a question.

"Yes. But you are...compensating very well. And there is no reason to think you won't continue to be in good health for months or even a few years."

"Thank you."

"But if you should need anything, you mustn't hesitate, Diego. Anything you need. I will come at once. Now. Something else. Is Felipe still watching over you at night?" Diego nodded. "Do you need it?"

"We disagree about that," Diego answered. "I wake up sometimes, but the attacks are mild and don't last long."

Father Benitez sat down on the bench and considered them for a long minute. "Go back to your room," he said finally.

Felipe shook his head. "No! If he were sick I couldn't _hear_ him! I won't leave!"

"I could have warned you not to have this argument," Diego murmured.

"Felipe, if not now, child, when - ?"

"I will not leave him alone." Felipe answered, only noticing too late that he was interrupting. "My responsibility!" He spelled the last out at speed, so Diego had to translate.

Soberly, Father Benitez sat back and regarded them. "Some of the nights have been very bad, I take it. It frightened you."

"What bothers him more, I think," Diego said, "is that they frightened me. I cannot fault his compassion or his loyalty."

"Well, there must be some solution. Who has the room across from you, Diego?"

"Gilberto," he said simply, and the priest nodded. Gilberto was often away at night, and when he was at home he needed his rest. They could not bring him into this matter. "Father is beside him."

"And beside you?"

"The best guestroom. But the walls are thick and the doors are far from the beds. I don't think Felipe could hear me if he were sleeping in there."

"How many guest rooms do you have? Is there a pair with doors close together?" He tapped his fingers thoughtfully. "Where is the nursery? Those usually have a room that adjoins for the nanny?"

Diego was shaking his head. "The nursery adjoins my father's rooms."

"Is there an outer door from there? Ah. Perfect." He stood briskly and brushed off his cassock.

Diego's eyes widened. "Father! I cannot ask my father to give up his bed!"

"I will suggest it. Diego, it isn't as though you are turning him out to sleep in the barn. Your room is quite nice. It was all very well for Felipe to sleep on the floor every night when it seemed you were failing. But as it is, you need to be able to wander out to the kitchen for a glass of milk at night without worrying that you'll trip on him. Never mind that the floor isn't particularly comfortable."

Felipe was about to protest that vaqueros on the trail had to sleep on the ground, and he didn't mind getting up if Diego wanted milk, when Don Alejandro said, "He has a point, son." Both Felipe and Diego jumped. The old man himself was standing on the path, carrying a book. Apparently he had come out intending to read.

"Except for the nursery, your room is a mirror of mine. My own father moved out of it when you and Gilberto came along. He didn't consider it a hardship. Lately, all I've used the nursery for is keeping old maps."

"Father...I don't know what to say," Diego answered.

"What is there to say? Changing rooms is a small enough thing. And when I say my prayers tonight I'll be thanking God that you've improved enough to have a door between you and Felipe at night. Now. Speaking of rooms, have you shown Father Benitez the plans for the new house?"

In the end they spent the rest of the afternoon placing the last of the interior walls. Father Benitez was interested in everything, but had not spent much time involved in building projects. He was distracted by the shorthand Diego used to indicate the width of adobe or the placement of windows.

Gilberto, who had run out of patience for considering the result of placing a door _here_ rather than _here_, sat down at the piano to play. Felipe could only listen to one thing at a time, and the music was much more interesting than drawings. He very nearly had them memorized anyway. Most of the bedrooms were upstairs, but the largest one was downstairs, opening onto the tiny courtyard out front. For Diego, of course, whom everyone assumed would not always be able to easily climb stairs. There was a large parlor and dining room, and a good kitchen, so the de le Vegas could throw parties in town if they wished. And a small library, some place cozy to sit when it was just the family. The most unusual feature was a room at the south side of the house with its own exterior door. Diego had talked his father into including a small 'laboratory,' but from the sketches of garden walls, decorative trees and carefully placed shrubbery, Felipe surmised that the more important purpose of the room was as an emergency bolt hole for Zorro.

Z

On Monday, Felipe, Nuela, and Tomas packed and switched Diego's and Don Alejandro's rooms. Felipe emptied out his own room and moved into the bright little nursery.

**November 22, 1814**

**Victoria**

The tavern was shorthanded. Pilar's grandfather was sick, and she'd gone to look after him. Perhaps that was the unavoidable result of being the only unmarried woman in a large family; you were always rushing off to help out somewhere.

Victoria had never met either of her grandparents. She was a little wistful, actually, about the thought of being called here and there by elderly relatives. Not that she had time to think about it, what with being called here and there by patrons.

It was a bad day to be short handed. A ship had come in at San Pedro that morning. Town had been crowded all day with people going to or from the coast. She had no overnight guests yet; it normally took a while to sort out luggage and transportation. Assuming there were any guests coming. Many ships didn't have passengers.

The worst of the lunch rush was mostly over and the only people left were three elderly men playing cards, a scruffy hunter in town to sell furs, and Don Roberto Segovia, who had fallen asleep in the corner. Consuela was wiping down the bar, and Victoria was collecting dirty dishes from empty tables when the door opened again. As she looked up her pleasant 'customer' face turned into a grin. "Diego."

"I hope you have some food left?" he asked cheerfully.

She pointed to a clean table. "Are you taking a break? How is the layout coming?"

"Finished," he said happily. "All but the end of page two. Nicholas is handing it."

"But...there is a ship in. What if there is news from, um, somewhere?"

"I'm sure there will be. And 'Berto is in San Pedro today. The most urgent thing he hears, that will go in tomorrow's paper. But Felipe convinced me there isn't time to consider all the information and write up the stories and set the paper before tomorrow. Not and do even a fair job of it. So next week will be a special addition: _News From the World_...or whatever part of the world we have news from. If we have enough, it might even run to four pages."

Four pages. "That would be a milestone." Victoria chuckled. "Well, it's all old news, isn't it? Another week can't hurt."

"Another week," Diego sighed pitiably. "But there is nothing for it. If only the ship had come yesterday." He seemed quite sad about it. It was endearing, how committed he was, how hard he worked, especially since he was rich enough not to have to.

"Why don't I get you something to eat? The chicken is all gone, but I have some stew left?"

"That sounds lovely."

She brought out a second plate and joined him. The dishes could wait a bit, and anyway, she was hungry. So was Diego, apparently. He cleaned his plate and complimented her happily even though it was only pork stew.

They were just finishing up when Sergeant Mendoza came in. He held out half a dozen envelopes tied up with string. "It's the Royal Mail," he said, eyes going to their empty plates. "Can you take the letters for the de le Vegas?"

Diego's eyes flashed eagerly and he reached for the envelopes. "Thank you."

Mendoza nodded. "You know, since I don't have to make the trip, I have a little time..."

"I'll get you a plate," Victoria said. A couple more lancers came in. Oh, well. This would finish up the stew and she could start fresh for supper. There was beef, of course, and time to make a pot roast. Or empanadas, but that was a bit more work.

She got back to work, bringing out the food for the lancers and clearing the rest of the tables. The door opened and a well dressed man came in, someone she didn't know. A traveler? She gathered up the last tray of dirty dishes and headed back to the kitchen. She'd take care of the new customer just as soon as she'd set these down and wiped her hands.

It could not have been two minutes later that she returned to the dining room, but everything had changed. Her customers were standing up and backing away. The strange gentleman had drawn his sword and was pointing it at Mendoza's throat. "Wherever I go, the first thing I do is seek out the best swordsman in town, and kill him. It saves so much time."

Mendoza goggled at him as though he could not believe his ears. Victoria certainly could not believe hers. .

"Draw your sword, my valiant friend. Or perhaps you could use a little incentive?" With the tip of his sword he began to cut the buttons off of Mendoza's uniform. One, two, three; they rattled as they hit the floor and rolled.

"Don't do it," Diego whispered. "Stay calm."

For several more seconds Mendoza just stared in astonishment, but so did everyone else. The man was being shockingly rude - he might, indeed, actually be _mad_, to insult a lancer like this. Was he trying to get arrested? Or was he just some kind of barbarian; his accent was much worse than Wayne's had been. He must be a foreigner.

When the fourth button snapped free and rattled across the floor, Mendoza's surprise finally gave way to temper. "That is quite enough, Senor!" He shoved the table out of the way and drew his sword.

Victoria winced. Mendoza might prefer to hang around town eating and drinking and gossiping and bragging, but had been in the Royal Lancers for twenty years. He had fought hostile natives and rebellious colonists up and down the Californias and in Sonora. He had killed. Right now he was advancing with anger and determination, and he wasn't fighting with the odd combination of half-hearted desperation and embarrassment he usually met Zorro with these days. He was serious. This stranger might get killed, right here in her tavern -

The stranger disarmed Mendoza in less than ten seconds. He glanced at Mendoza's sword on the floor and up again at Mendoza pressed into a corner beside the window. "You're awful. It's almost an embarrassment to face you." He sighed. "Prepare to die."

Diego started forward, but the alcalde appeared from the direction of the doorway, his sword already drawn. He closed on the stranger and poked him rudely on the shoulder with his sword. "That's enough. Lower your sword."

"Who dares to make such a demand?" He sounded almost bored, but that might only be the effect of his strange accent.

"Luis Ramone. I am the alcalde of this pueblo. And who might you be?"

Still sounding bored, he said, "Thackery. Sir Miles Thackery."

Diego's jaw dropped and he rocked forward on his toes. Victoria started to ask him what was wrong, but he stilled and then walked - very calmly - toward Mendoza. Mildly, he said, "I'm afraid you've wasted your time, Senor. The good sergeant is hardly the best swordsman in Los Angeles."

Mendoza agreed at once. "This is very true, Don D - "

"In fact, he is inclined to exaggerate his accomplishments. His skills with weapons - I'd say he was average at best."

"Well, I wouldn't - "

Diego silenced Mendoza with a hard look and turned back to Thackery and intoned, "He is not a worthy opponent, Senor."

As though the words were some formula or magic charm, Thackery sighed and lost interest in Mendoza. "Very well," he said. Then he turned to the alcalde, who still held him at sword point. "And now you have a choice: withdraw or I will make you eat that. The hilt is the hardest part to swallow.

The alcalde didn't move.

Victoria didn't even see Thackery bring his sword up, but suddenly there was the clang of weapons and the afternoon sunlight was bouncing off of flickering blades. The alcalde lasted longer than Mendoza had, but still, far less than a minute went by before Thackery was holding both swords and the alcalde was on his knees.

"Until I choose to leave, I own this town," he announced.

The alcalde said nothing.

No one said anything.

Thackery tossed the alcalde's sword contemptuously on the floor and sheathed his own. "Innkeeper?"

Victoria took a single step forward. Thackery looked her up and down, as though she were a heifer for sale. "Very pretty," he announced, as though his opinion carried great weight.

She ignored the comment.

"I shall require your best room."

"Someone is staying in it." A lie. The only guest she had was in the plainest room, a wool salesman from Santa Barbara who came to town once a month for market day. The caballeros who came to town for the auction stayed with friends.

"I shall require your best room _immediately_."

Victoria didn't move. People began to murmur.

Thackery looked around. "You would all very much like to see me dead," he said. "Excellent. That way, everyone knows which side they are on, and life is so much simpler." He looked down at Victoria. "Why are you still standing here? You have work to do."

Suddenly, Diego was standing in her field of vision. He nodded slightly, his eyes carrying a warning.

Victoria signaled to Consuela to find his baggage outside and led the way upstairs.

**Gilberto**

Gilberto wasn't in a hurry to share the bad news from San Pedro, but there was no point in putting it off. When he went into the newspaper office, though, Nicholas was alone drinking orange juice and reading one of Diego's history books. "Done already?"

The boy hopped to his feet and dipped his head. Gilberto did not believe for a moment that the subservience reflected any genuine meekness, which irked him. He didn't have time for pretense (yes, he noticed the irony there).

Nicholas' humility or lack thereof was not an issue. As long as he was loyal to Diego and did his work in such a way that made Diego's life easier, it didn't matter to Gilberto if the child thought, deep in his heart, that he was as good as a Spaniard. It was true, after all. The pretense that it wasn't could probably only be kept up for another generation or two.

Nicholas pointed to an open space at the top of page two. "The boss was hoping you might have something," he said.

Gilberto gave him a page torn out of his notebook. There were three items there, described briefly. Nicholas read them. He had the same expression as Diego when mentally translating words into inches. He nodded. "I think I'll have to pull the advertisement for 'Lady of the Heart,' but that was just filler anyway."

"Good." He checked his pocketwatch. It was after six. "Diego gone home?"

"No, he's in the tavern. I'm to bring him a proof when I get the page done. He said to tell you he'd like you to stop in."

Diego was at a central table playing chess with Father Benitez. It was unusual enough to see the priest in the tavern that Gilberto took a second look at Diego. His color and posture and breathing all seemed to be fine, so he ignored the impulse to rush over and ask how he was feeling.

He got a glass of wine from Consuela at the bar and took a seat at the table, making a show of not interrupting the chess game.

Diego sat back and folded his hands anyway. Father Benitez greeted Gilberto politely. It all seemed so...casual.

"Anything interesting going on?"

"Do you remember the name 'Miles Thackery'?" Diego asked idly.

That seemed like an odd thing to bring up. Thackery? "Didn't he win the title at Nice a few years back? He defeated that German...Donnar? No, Dennerlein. As I recall, Thackery was undefeated for seven or eight years running."

"He's here," Diego said.

"What do you mean _here_?"

"I mean, he is upstairs in Victoria's best room taking a bath. Felipe helped Consuela carry the water."

"But - _here_? Why?"

"I don't know. Maybe he has decided he wants to ranch. Maybe the end of the world has been added to the Grand Tour."

"Maybe it's not him - ? Are you sure?"

"He has already challenged and defeated Mendoza and the alcalde." Diego paused. "He claims he owns the town now."

"What does _that_ mean?"

"I don't know," Diego said softly.

Gilberto started to stand. Father Benitez reached out and laid a hand on his arm. He shook his head. "Nothing untoward has happened. No one has been hurt."

Gilberto took a deep breath and sat back in his chair. After a moment's thought, he handed the remainder of his wine to Diego. Best if he kept his head absolutely clear. Diego handed the glass back. "I am spending the night in town. You are going home."

Gilberto narrowed his eyes. "I am going home." And coming right back?

Diego shook his head. "Moving quickly would be foolish. And unnecessary. Nothing untoward is going to happen tonight."

"You can't know that." He looked imploringly at Father Benitez. He wanted a little help managing Diego.

"I am unarmed. There is _nothing_ he can do to me."

"Except run you through or slit you open," Gilberto said through his teeth.

Diego shook his head. "That would be murder. The lancers would come after him with muskets. If he resisted, he would be shot. If he surrendered, he would be hung."

"Oh, yes," Gilberto rolled his eyes. "Because our lancers have no reason to worry about their ability to detain one man armed only with a sword."

"That is a point. But Thackery doesn't know about that potential...hesitation."

"I will be here as well," Father Benitez said quickly. "The rectory is in need of repairs. It will go most quickly if I am out of the way."

"A bit sudden..."

"Well, the earthquake, you know. There are some cracks I am worried about." He smiled innocently.

And, actually, Gilberto felt much reassured by this. If Thackery murdered a priest, never mind the soldiers, the _townspeople_ would kill him with rocks and farm tools before he could even draw his sword to fend them off. Even an Englishman would know better than to lift a hand against a priest in a small town. "So I go home."

"Yes. And tonight you stay there. And you don't come into town armed tomorrow."

"It is important not to act on the heat of the moment," Father Benitez said softly. "No action may be necessary...and any action that _may_ be necessary..."

"We must not allow ourselves to be provoked into doing anything stupid," Diego said.

"Best make sure Father leaves his sword at home, then," Gilberto grumbled. "Oh, God. Tomorrow is market day." Town would be crowded. There was so much potential for mischief.

"Yes, it could be...very interesting." But Diego's worry only showed for a moment.

"I'll stay and join you for dinner."

"No. Go home. Take the mail. Tell Father..."

"He would prefer you stay in town anyway, Little Brother. I won't have to explain."

"I will see you in the morning."

Frustrated, Gilberto threw up his hands and leaned forward to hiss, "You don't have to protect me. I won't do anything stupid."

Diego, damn him, actually smiled. "You have no idea how provoking he is. Go home. Everything will be fine."

Reluctantly, Gilberto rose to leave. Then he remembered the bad news he'd been bringing from the port at San Pedro. He sighed. "Diego."

"What is it?"

"There were no medical supplies among the cargo."

Diego nodded. There was nothing to say.

_~tbc_


	12. November 23, 1814 Part 1

**November 23, 1814 Part 1**

**Alejandro**

Ordinarily, Gilberto was careful not to fuss over the newspaper or worry too much over Diego. This was probably consideration for Diego's feelings, not because he genuinely thought there was nothing to worry about. That Diego surely saw through the little deception was hardy the point. Gilberto did try, at least.

So it was unusual, that morning, the way Gilberto bolted his breakfast and shifted nervously in his chair. He kept glancing at Diego's place and _almost_ frowning. He was clearly worried about something, and pretending he wasn't. Alejandro was going to ignore it, though, for the moment. Gilberto was a grown man. He didn't need to be fussed over any more than Diego did. And anyway, they didn't have time: today was market day, and there was a stock sale that morning, besides. It was Alejandro's turn to serve as auctioneer.

Rancho de le Vega had a bull in the sale, too, but Juan had already taken him to the corral just outside of town. As for purchasing stock, no, not this year. He was in negotiations for a bull from the peninsula. The negotiations would go faster if he could ride down himself, but being gone that long? No, he couldn't bring himself to do that. It would just have to take as long as it took.

Still. The sale today would be interesting. Carlos was selling that black of his. It should fetch a very good price.

Alejandro was so distracted thinking about stock that he didn't notice that the crowd in town wasn't milling around the market but gathered beside the fountain, looking at something...he couldn't see over their heads well enough to tell what. He and Gilberto tied their horses and headed over to take a look.

As they got closer they could hear the ring of metal on metal. Gilberto cursed and broke into a run. Alejandro followed more slowly - and then regretted it when the crowed gasped and groaned and took a horrified step backward.

Diego came stalking out of the crowed, even as everyone else was craning forward to get a look. He caught Gilberto by the upper arm and marched him - like a small child caught being naughty - back toward Alejandro. He took his father by the arm, too, and stood between them, holding on.

The look on his face - it had been a long time since Alejandro saw Diego lose his temper. He was very close, now. And it might be _himself_ he was trying to restrain, as much as his father and brother.

"Who was it?" Gilberto whispered.

"Emilio Pascal. If he doesn't bleed to death...He may keep the use of his arm. Perhaps. Dr. Hernandez is already..."

Alejandro gaped. "What, you mean that swordsman?" Gilberto had mentioned an English fencing champion, but Alejandro hadn't really given it any thought.

Diego shuddered. "Thackery bumped into Senorita Amanda in the plaza and she took offense and he would not apologize, naturally...by the time I saw what was happening, Don Emilio was already, well, you _know _him."

"My God, that idiot," Gilberto whispered.

Diego laughed hollowly. "His stupidity has cost him. He had no chance. None at all."

Alejandro had never liked the Pascal boy, but it was a sad thing to happen to the son of his old friend Antonio. And with his wedding coming in a few months. "I suppose all the forms were followed," he asked.

"Oh, Father. Yes, but even if they weren't, the lancers are terrified of him. Ramone has locked himself in his office. No one is going to do anything."

Gently, Alejandro disengaged himself from Diego's grip and turned to look. Pascal was being carried toward the doctor's house. Senorita Amanda fluttered after him, weeping. Alajandro looked for the stranger - and found him. Well dressed, tall, older than the twins. He looked... satisfied.

The plaza was unusually quiet, given the size of the crowd. People began to drift over to the booths, but they weren't moving purposefully.

"Any trouble last night?" Gilberto asked.

"No, it was very quiet," Diego said. He sighed. "I should go check on the paper."

He took Gilberto with him, which was fine. Gilberto was unarmed, but if a man was serious about dueling, he _could_ find a sword to borrow. Gilberto was hot-headed, but he wasn't a fool...

Still.

Giving one last worried look toward the twins as they entered the newspaper office, Alejandro headed over to the tavern. He found Don Roberto Segovia in the corner having tea.

"In town for the stock sale?" Alejandro asked, taking the seat across from him.

The old gentleman glanced around and lowered his voice. "Actually, I stayed in town...well, for the same reason I suppose your Diego and the priest stayed here last night. If we can keep this little dandy surrounded with old men and invalids, he won't have anyone worth fighting. Unfortunately, he won't stay still." He scowled down at his tea and sighed.

"Bad business," Alejandro agreed. "Gilberto told me about him, but I'm afraid I wasn't listening."

Don Roberto recounted the story of the swordfights the previous evening with Mendoza and the alcalde. Really, between Thackery's ability and attitude, it was remarkable that no one had been killed yet. Assuming the Pascal boy lived.

Since he happened to be in town, Don Roberto wanted to take a look at the stock up for auction. When they stepped outside, though, Alejandro found a pleasant surprise. The Neilson family, unmistakable in their plain, dark clothing, were moving through the market. Alejandro excused himself to go say hello.

"Well, Daniil Ivanavich, are you in town for the stock sale?" he asked after they exchanged greetings. He only stumbled a little over the complicated Russian name.

"No, we just came to the market for supplies. Actually, we may be in town until tomorrow; our wagon wheel is not good enough for the return trip, and the cartmaker, he will not have time until tomorrow morning."

"That's a shame. Are you staying at the tavern?"

"We are used to staying in the wagon; it was our home for several weeks."

"You are certainly welcome to stay with us - "

"We couldn't think of imposing."

Alejandro considered how much arguing it would take to satisfy the man's pride when Victoria and Consuela came up behind them, both of them loaded down with string bags full of vegetables. Victoria motioned Consuela to go on ahead and turned to the Neilsons. "Forgive me for eavesdropping," she said, "but I am very short handed at the tavern today." She smiled hopefully. "If you can cook, Senora Neilson, I will trade a room for the night for helping out in the kitchen."

Oksana Neilson shot a panicked look at her husband, who looked uncertainly at Don Alejandro.

Oh. They were worried about the propriety. Well, they were new in town, after all. "I think it's a wonderful idea," he said firmly. "The tavern has an excellent reputation. You'll find it very comfortable."

The Neilson's looked at each other and Senora Neilson nodded.

"Well, then. You finish your shopping and then come on around to the kitchen," Victoria said.

The newspaper was out by then. While the Neilsons explored the market, Alejandro took a few minutes to read it. It really _was_ very good. For just a moment he let himself marvel at Diego's accomplishment. Then he marveled at the fact that there were actually a few items in the paper that he didn't already know - even if you didn't include the news from yesterday's ship. Incredible.

Senora Neilson and Anton both went to the tavern's kitchen, but Daniil joined Alejandro in looking over the stock pen.

"I've seen them on the hillsides, from a distance. Hundreds of them. It is amazing, Don Alejandro. I cannot think how you manage such a thing. Hundreds of cows."

"Thousands," Don Alejandro corrected gently.

"I have a milk cow!" Daniil laughed. "Just the one."

"Much of the land here is not suited to crops. Too dry or too rocky or too steep. Cattle are less picky than wheat."

"Thousands - you can't eat that much beef."

It was very odd, speaking with someone who didn't live and breathe cattle for much of the year. "We eat a great deal of beef. But the money is in the hides."

Z

Midmorning, when the auction started, the sky was beginning to cloud over. It wasn't dark enough to threaten rain, so the sale went forward smoothly. There were a dozen animals on the block. The first half went very quickly. As the de le Vega bull was brought forward, though, Alejandro noticed the champion duelist take a place along the fence.

Alejandro paid no attention to him at first. What would a traveler do with breeding stock? Except, strangely, he bid eleven hundred pesos on the bull.

"Eleven hundred, and thank you, sir. Do I hear twelve hundred?"

"The bidding is closed," Thackery said mildly.

Irked at being thrown off stride, Alejandro said mildly, "Excuse me, sir. The bidding is not closed."

Thackery reached out and caught hold of the hair of a little girl standing beside him at the fence. He smiled. In his other hand was a stiletto. "Do you wish to argue about it, friend?"

He wouldn't, surely. He wouldn't. But...looking into his eyes, Alejandro believed that he would.

Not now. Not here. But how hard would it be to get a child alone? He would do it.

Alejandro wasn't wearing a sword, but he would shove this gavel down the man's throat. He slid from his perch on the fence and started forward.

Thackery's fist twisted in the girl's hair. She yelped.

Alejandro turned back and slammed the gavel against the top of the fence post. "Eleven hundred pesos. Sold to the gentleman in the black hat."

He continued after that, so angry the world kept going red at the edges. What the other animals sold for...he could never have said afterward.

Thackery was still smiling when he brought over the eleven hundred pesos for the bull.

**Gilberto**

There was nothing for it but to get Father Alejandro out of town immediately after the auction. To say he was angry was such an understatement it wasn't even amusing. The entire ride home, and for over an hour after they arrived at the hacienda, he complained about Thackery in every detail. He came up with several improbable (and a few terrifying) plans to drive the man out of town or arrest him.

By the time Father wound down and gave it up to go check the barns, Felipe had retreated to a corner and Diego was looking weary around the eyes. Gilberto himself felt as though he'd been wrestling a bull.

It wasn't that Father was wrong. Not at all. Thackery was a pestilence, and something _did_ have to be done. But anything Alejandro did might well end in getting him killed. He wasn't prudent when he was outraged.

Gilberto squeezed his eyes shut and rolled his shoulders. "So," he began.

"Not here," Diego cut in. "Not for this." He triggered the door in the fireplace and led the way down into the cool quiet of the cave.

Gilberto took a seat on the stool beside the work table and folded his arms. "I didn't see much of the fight. How good is he?"

"Very good."

Well, that was to be expected. Gilberto pushed aside the stab of anxiety and asked, "Better than Zorro?"

Diego exhaled slowly. "Against these opponents...I couldn't tell."

Somehow he managed not to flinch. "There is no help for it, though. Is there? I have to try."

"I've been thinking about that."

Gilberto looked up. Diego was quite determined about something. Gilberto felt his stomach clinch as the quarrel to come took shape in his mind. Gilberto was not confident he would win it, and he was terrified of losing. "I bet you have. Well, the answer is no. Absolutely not."

"You're over reacting," Diego said gently, as though Gilberto were the one being unreasonable.

"You are being stupid and reckless!"

Diego shook his head, but before he could answer Felipe stepped between them. "What?" he gestured.

"He wants to fight Thackery." It came out an accusation.

"No," Diego said patiently. "I need to fight Thackery."

Gilberto hopped off the stool and closed on him. "You will be killed. I know you don't want to hear this, Diego, _but you cannot win_."

"I don't want to hear it. But since you bring it up, you are right. No. I can't win." Diego smiled like a fox. No, he wouldn't win. He would only make Thackery fight his very best.

And, oh, this was tempting. Diego to test Thackery, to find his weaknesses. When Zorro faced this villain, he would have Diego's tactics guiding is arm. But, no, the risk was too great. Gilberto shook his head.

Diego closed the remaining distance between them and took Gilberto gently by the arms. "He is a bully who claims he owns this town," he said softly. "Today he threatened a little girl because he _could_...and the lancers are afraid to interfere. There is no one to stop him but us - unless you wish to leave Father to it?"

"I am not so afraid of this man that I will endanger you - "

"What danger? My illness will no doubt hobble me and cut the duel short, but - "

"He is vicious."

"And I am very, _very _good. Good enough to avoid being maimed, at least, even though it's unlikely I'll win."

"If I ask you not to do it..."

"I have to see him fight, 'Berto, really fight. You are an excellent swordsman, and you are younger and stronger, but he is an unknown and you haven't had a worthy opponent in two years."

"It's not sporting."

"Don't be silly. It is exactly sporting. People discuss matches and dissect opponents all the time. It is not as though you are sending me to spy so you can kill him. You are only going to 'ask' him to leave."

Gilberto felt himself running out of arguments. "And how are we to arrange this duel between Thackery and Zorro. I can't duel him and avoid arrest at the same time."

"Offer the alcalde a deal; in exchange for an hour's amnesty you'll get rid of this antagonist and give him his pueblo back."

Yes, that might work. Damn him.

"You have run out of arguments."

"Yes. Thank you. I know that."

Diego patted his arm. "We'll go back into town after siesta. I should lie down for a while if I'm going to fence later."

_~tbc_

_Ah. At last. This was one of the sections I have been planning since I started Saving the Fox more than a year and a half ago! It is so neat to be finally getting everything in position for this. Yipee. More next Friday, I think._


	13. November 23, 1814 Part 2

**November 23, 1814, Part 2**

**Felipe**

Diego wouldn't look at him on the way back to his room...or while he was taking off his shoes...or after he lay down on the bed. Which might be a good thing, because Felipe had no idea what to say.

Maybe he should be very upset by this. But maybe he shouldn't. After all, he had seen Diego beat Zorro...and he wasn't even trying to _win_ this fight. And it wasn't like he was talking about riding for hours or jumping around on roofs or fighting off a platoon of soldiers.

Diego closed his eyes. He looked completely relaxed, as though he was just going to take a nap. How could he be comfortable now? And yet -

Diego's eyes popped open. "If you are going to yell at me, let's get it over with."

Felipe shrugged and came over to sit beside him on the bed. "I don't yell at Gilberto, and he gets shot at twice a month. Or more. Just because you are doing something dangerous and stupid - " This was coming out all wrong. "I do not yell at him on account of Zorro. I will not yell at you."

Diego hugged him hard. Then he said, "Go and lie down for a while. We'll be busy enough later."

So Felipe went into the connecting room and lay down on his bed.

Z

Gilberto had Diego's competition sword when they came out at four o'clock. Diego examined it briefly, the sheathed it and wrapped it in sackcloth. "Well leave this in the gig until it's time," he said.

Gilberto nodded.

They didn't say anything else. So much going on, so complicated and difficult, and they didn't say anything.

The trip into town seemed to go too quickly. "If you're around at the start, everyone will expect you to stop me," Diego said. "Go check on the new house."

Gilberto nodded.

Diego looked around. Town was quiet. The stock pens were empty. All the stalls had been taken down and the sales carts were gone. Diego patted Felipe's shoulder and headed toward the tavern.

**Victoria**

Victoria served Thackery herself. She wouldn't expose Consuela to his insults and mockery.

His hostility seemed to be completely indiscriminate. He surely couldn't feel such contempt for so many people he didn't know, or care so much about the ugliness (or bad odor or shortness or unattractive hat) of strangers. His endless criticism and mockery simply had no point, unless he was just trying to pick fights.

And that seemed likely to Victoria. He fought with such enthusiasm. And he seemed almost disappointed when the people he insulted refused to rise to their own defense or demand satisfaction.

For a while, Father Benitez had been a calming force, interceding to sooth ruffled feathered and give both lancers and gentlemen reasons to decline a fight that minimized the loss of dignity for them. But he was tending poor Don Emilio, now. The doctor had done all he could; all that was left was prayer.

Victoria hoped the Englishman would get bored with Los Angeles and leave. Soon.

Things in the kitchen were much better, at least. Senora Neilson was an excellent cook. Her bread was absolutely wonderful and if she put pickles in the soup...well, it was still very _good_ soup. Her customers, the ones who had not fled to avoid Thackery, had eaten it happily enough at lunch. And if she didn't know how to make tortillas, well, her roast beef was coming along just fine.

The little boy that shadowed her was useful, too. He fetched water and chopped onions and stayed out from underfoot.

In the kitchen everything was going fine. In the front room, though, Thackery was demanding a full meal, even though it was far too early. An English custom, she supposed, since he was loudly mocking the Spanish for eating supper so late. But there was nothing to do but fix a plate for him.

Thackery looked at the food and snorted. "You call this roast beef?" He put is foot - his actual foot - on the table and pointed to his boot. "This looks more appetizing." And he tossed the plate across the room.

Victoria was acutely aware of the few customers in the room. Even knowing that they were all as helpless against Thackery as she was didn't ease the humiliation much. The only satisfaction she had was that, as desperate as he seemed to provoke a fight with someone - anyone - over, something - anything - there was no one in the room who would challenge him.

She leaned over him and smiled sweetly. "Well, Senor, I am very sorry I cannot meet your standards. It is a shame to lose your business - but somehow I shall manage without it." She spun on her heel, relieved that now he would have to leave. He had declared her food unfit? Let him go hungry! Ha. And sleep in the street -

She hadn't gone two steps when a strong hand clamped down on her upper arm and cruelly spun her around. "Nobody, certainly not an innkeeper, talks to me that way. Now get me a decent meal, you'll be getting a taste of this," and he tapped his foot against the floor.

"Take your hands off of her."

_Diego?_ Panicked, Victoria turned her head. _Oh, _no_. What is he doing here_? It was Wednesday afternoon. He should be safely at home.

"I said, take your hands off Senorita Escalante."

_And why is he talking like this? He knows how to diffuse one of Thackery's little tantrums; he did it twice last night_.

Thackery smiled. "I do believe you are looking for a fight, Senor?" He let go of Victoria and stepped away.

_No. No, no, no. _

Diego, taller, broader, cold as ice, bore down on Thackery. "Any time. Anywhere."

"Shall we say...ten minutes from now? In the plaza?"

Diego nodded once and then turned and swept out of the tavern.

Her heart pounding, Victoria ran after him. Just outside the door, however, Felipe - humble, polite, easy-going Felipe - caught her and pulled her into the shady corner of the porch.

"Let me go! I have to talk to him!" she hissed.

He pushed her back and rolled his eyes impatiently.

"Felipe, please," she said. The idea of trying to physically escape him was just too absurd for words. He was a child.

He spread his hands and shook his head, his face a picture of irritated puzzlement, and Victoria realized what he was asking: what was she going to _say_ to Diego? 'Please don't do this you're going to be killed'? 'You're not really a man, you cannot defend the honor of your friends'? Horrified, Victoria closed her eyes.

Felipe patted her awkwardly on the back of her hand.

"Can't we do anything?"

Sad, brown eyes looked back at her. No. There was absolutely nothing they could do.

Victoria took a deep breath, smiled, and carefully stepped around Felipe. Diego was at his rig, unpacking a sword from the little two-wheeled carriage. Very well, then. She made a point of not hurrying as she went to him.

Diego looked up, smiling wryly. "Well. I think you're about to see me make a terrible fool of myself."

It was all she could do to smile. "Oh, no. No. Of course not."

He raised his eyebrows.

"You...you are probably the bravest man in town." _Yes,_ she decided. _That sounded natural._

"Not so brave," he said gently. "I used to be quite good at this. I might still be good enough."

She nodded. "Yes. I remember. Your father used to brag every time he got a letter from that British teacher of yours." Drat. Her voice was shaking.

"Victoria...this is not your fault. I had already decided to fight him. I came prepared. That this was my grounds...purely a bonus."

She looked at the shining sword in his hand. He was surely telling the truth. It did not make her feel any better.

He checked his watch. "I have five minutes. Please excuse me."

She watched him head to the newspaper office with dry eyes and her head up. Barely.

**Gilberto**

He stayed in the shadows around the side of the tavern and watched Diego and Thackery take positions on opposite sides of the plaza. Once the match started he could move closer for a better view, but until then he'd stay out of the way.

Diego handed his jacket and sheathe to Felipe, who took them and retreated to the tavern porch to stand beside Victoria and Senora Neilson. A small crowd was gathering, milling at the edges of the plaza. The alcalde came out of is office to stand before the cuartel. No one looked happy.

Except for Diego. He was smiling as he approached Thackery and saluted. Thackery's return was too casual to be respectful, but Diego just dropped his left leg back and settled squarely on his feet.

Gilberto expected Diego to go on the attack immediately; time was not his ally. But Diego waited almost serenely as Thackery charged him.

He knocked the probing sword aside and gave ground neatly. Once, twice, three times, dancing backward lightly, like a wave curling back from shore. He slid Thackery's attacks aside almost gently. The wave turned without warning: Diego nudged Thackery's sword over his head, ducked underneath, and came up under his guard. Thackery nearly tripped himself scampering away.

Diego was pursuing, now, and it was clearly taking every ounce of Thackery's speed and skill to keep Diego's blade away from his face.

Slowly, with a white, hot joy blossoming in his heart, Gilberto came forward to get a better view of the fight. Diego was as light as a hummingbird, changing directions, stalking relentlessly.

Thackery was good, though. He managed, finally, to hold his position and keep Diego's wicked tip at bay. He had excellent footwork and a beautiful compound ripost. He might even be as good as Sir Edmund.

Of course, Diego had beaten Sir Edmund. Gilberto found he was holding is breath.

He let it out in fury as suddenly Thackery began falling back again under a series of tiny swift, subtle attacks. Diego floated forward, searching for an opening; he was fighting to _win_. Gilberto had taken three whole steps foreword before he realized that there was absolutely nothing he could do.

Desperate, Thackery dove forward, trying to get under Diego's guard. Twice, three times, five times. Diego blocked him. The last time, Thackery misjudged his footing and stumbled. Diego pressed forward, his sword coming around -

-And missing. The point dipped and went wide. Diego's other arm came out unsteadily.

Thackery, still righting himself, hesitated; his opponent wasn't where he had expected him to be. But Diego was wide open now, and Thackery was sliding forward in a perfect thrust -

It only missed because Diego was falling, already below the blade, folding into a heap on the hard-packed dirt of the plaza...

Gilberto ran. He would not have been fast enough if Thackery had gone for a killing stroke, but the duelist was staring down at Diego in confusion and, possibly, disappointment.

Thackery took a polite, formal step back.

Diego stirred, but couldn't get his hands under him.

"I will not kill a man on his back," Thackery said impatiently.

And then, finally, Gilberto had reached them. He crashed to his knees, leaning forward to put himself - his unarmed self - between Diego and his opponent.

"I say!" Thackery protested.

And then Victoria was there, and Felipe, and all three of them were between Diego and the madman who liked to menace people with swords.

"This is very irregular."

Diego's eyes were open, but rolled back in his head. His breathing was deep but uneven. "He's fainted," Gilberto said, and yes, this part was for Thachery's benefit, because they still had not gotten Diego out of there. But when he leaned down to add, "You idiot!" he meant it.

"Oh, come now - "

"He has a heart aliment," Gilberto answered.

Thackery turned around and tossed his sword onto the ground. "Is there no one in this wretched, God forsaken pit who can use a sword who isn't unsound?" He turned back, raging, "I am not finished with you!"

"Yes, you are," Gilberto snapped. Diego was making eye contact now. Gilberto lifted him by the shoulders so he was sitting. "You are finished with him. If you are determined to demand satisfaction, I'll be happy to meet you myself tomorrow or the next day, but right now I'm _busy_, so go away." Yes, that sounded like the de le Vega temper. As angry as he was at Diego, though, he was too relieved that the worst was over to build up a genuine fury. Just as well, since someone needed to be thinking now and Diego, the idiot, had addled himself trying to win this fight.

With Felipe helping on the other side, they managed to get Diego more or less to his feet. It was clear his legs wouldn't hold, though. The newspaper office was closer than the tavern. While Thackery stormed off, they retreated there, pausing for Felipe to produce his key and open the door.

They deposited Diego in the chair behind the desk and Gilberto checked his pulse. Fast and weak, it bolstered his simmering anger. "Idiot. Pardon me if I assumed you weren't going to fight until you _actually_ fainted," he hissed.

Diego waved him away. Gilberto went to the window and peeked through the slats of the shutters. The small crowd in the plaza still milled around uneasily. Hmmm. Gilberto raised is voice. "Dueling, Diego? Dueling? Have you lost your mind? Of all the stupid, irresponsible, immature things - I suppose you lost your temper? When Father finds out he's going to hide us both - you for being stupid and me for not stopping you!" Absurd, since no one in town had ever heard of Father whipping anyone, but it was an acceptable exaggeration to anyone who knew his temper. "You can't behave yourself for five minutes. I swear I have never - "

Felipe slapped him firmly across the shoulder, grabbed him by a handful of jacket and spun him around.

He had expected to see his brother silently laughing at him. Instead, Diego was sagging against the arm of the chair, his face grey and his breath coming in shallow, fast snatches.

Cursing, Gilberto flung himself onto his knees beside the chair. Diego's pulse was just a flutter, Gilberto couldn't even count the beats. Oh, dear God. "His medicine."

Felipe shook his head.

"Yes!"

"No," again. His hands shaking, Felipe said, "Half a dose before the start. I just gave him the rest. No more."

"He needs -"

"No! You know what overdose does!" How pathetic was it that they had a sign for overdose? "It won't help _this_ anyway. You know it."

Diego's lips were blue. He was gasping desperately, his neck corded with effort, but it did not good. The spreading blue meant oxygen wasn't moving into his blood. Groaning, Gilberto picked him up and kicked the chair out of the way. Diego was heavy, a solid, reassuring weight in his arms. Gilberto sank to the floor. "Get something for his feet."

Diego began to struggle. "Easy. I'm not going to put your head down. I know, Diego, I know." Gilberto knelt on the floor, Diego's head and shoulders cradled in his lap. "See. Your head is up. Calm down. Just breathe."

Diego's hand tugged weakly at Gilberto's forearm. "Listen," he gasped. "Vulnerable. Thackery."

"Shut up, Diego."

"You can - "

"Shut up. You'll tell me later." Gilberto pushed Diego's sweaty hair out of his eyes. "Later. This is just a little spell. It will pass in a few minutes."

It wasn't passing, though. If anything, Diego was getting worse. Gilberto could not find a pulse at all and his hands were ice cold. The blue had spread from his nailbeds to the tips of his fingers.

Diego was past talking now. With his left hand he signed, "Sorry. Sorry."

No. No, this was happening too quickly. A drop of water appeared on Diego's face at the same moment Gilberto realized his own face was wet. Hopelessly, Gilberto looked up at Felipe. The boy shook his head; he had no ideas.

"Get the priest," Gilberto said. "Run."

As Felipe want flying out the door, Gilberto looked down at Diego. "He is _not _coming for last rites, Diego. Do you understand? He's coming to help you. You're going to be fine."

Diego's eyes drifted closed. The gasps were shallower now, and more uneven. He was losing this fight.

Gilberto rubbed his eyes across his sleeve and tried to think of a poem, something to say, some way to reach and comfort Diego as he struggled against his illness. His mind was a blank.

A knock at the open door made him look up. Victoria was already coming in, followed by Senora Neilson.

"Do you need anything?" Victoria asked "We saw Felipe - " She caught sight of them over the desk and gasped. "Diego? What has happened?"

Gilberto opened his mouth to answer. Nothing came out.

Senora Neilson came around the desk and crouched beside them on the floor. "His heart?" she asked in thickly accented Spanish.

Gilberto nodded helplessly.

"What remedy?"

Gilberto shook his head. "We gave him his medicine. But nothing is much help with this."

She laid a hand on Diego's chest. "Hurrying," she said. "Bistra." She frowned. "Have you tried water?"

"I...I don't think he's very thirsty."

She frowned some more at that and stood up to look around the room. She went to the wash bucket and swished her hand in the water at the bottom. Then she went back to the door and called for Anton.

Victoria was still watching Diego with horrified eyes. Gilberto swallowed. "Get the book on the desk," he said. "Bring it over here. Read something."

She looked a little shocked. "_Read_ something?"

"For him. Out loud. It doesn't matter what..."

So she sat on the edge of the chair Gilberto had pushed aside and began to read about Charlemagne. Diego gave no sign of hearing her.

Anton stumbled through the door. He held the bucket in both hands. His mother took it from him and brought it over behind the desk. Gilberto glanced up at her, but couldn't bring himself to ask what she intended to do. He wouldn't have refused any idea at that moment, but at the same time he didn't expect much result. Where was the priest? Why was Felipe taking so long?

Senora Neilson stood over them, hesitating. And then she upended the bucket of water on them. The shock was so astonishing that Gilberto yelled and Diego very nearly levitated out of Gilberto's arms. Gasping, shaking, Gilberto pushed Diego further up, afraid he might have inhaled some of the water.

Then Diego went still and slack in his arms. Horrified, Gilberto scrambled to grasp his wrist. "Diego?"

Diego breathed in and slitted his eyes open, revealing a flash of blue. He blinked.

"Diego?" Gilberto found a pulse, then. The separate beats were strong and distinct enough to count. "Diego?"

"Wet..." Diego whispered.

"Yes, yes, little brother. You're wet." Gilberto began to laugh.

Victoria, at least, still had her wits. "What did you do to the water?" she demanded.

"Nothing - " Senora Neilson gasped. "Nothing. It was water. Only cold."

"Cold? Yes, they are shivering!" Victoria said indignantly.

"It had to be cold, miss," she fumbled in Russian. "Warm water won't work."

Felipe, breathless from his sprint, ducked through the door, then. "He's coming. Right behind me," he said, darting between the women to reach Diego's side. Diego opened his eyes and reached out for Felipe's hand. Felipe gasped in shock and gave a confused look to Gilberto.

Gilberto hardly knew what to say. Everything was strange. They were sitting on the floor. His clothes were sopping wet and sticking to him. Diego was pale instead of blue. Gilberto bowed his head and pulled Diego closer.

It was the priest who gently prized Diego from his arms and levered him back into the abandoned chair. He shoed everyone else away, though they went no further than the doorway. Felipe slapped Gilberto across the shoulders. "Wake up. What happened?"

"I don't know. She threw the water on him and it passed."

Felipe scowled at him. "Why?" he demanded.

"I don't know..."

"Ask her, idiot!"

Ah. Yes. "Oksana Federovna," he said in stiff Russian. "Tell me, please. Why was water effective?"

She looked up at him. "I don't know, Don Gilberto. I only know it does work. Your brother - my grandfather was afflicted the same way. He used to jump in the river when the spells came on him. And it worked." She shook her head. "Only when he was sick like this. The cold water at other times caused fainting. It is a very odd thing, and I can't explain it. But cold water for a hurrying heart," she shrugged. "I thought everyone knew it."

For a moment, overcome by both gratitude and terror, Gilberto couldn't answer. Finally he managed to say, "No. We didn't know it."

Felipe slapped his shoulder again, wanting to know what she had said.

"She doesn't know why it works. A Russian folk remedy, I suppose." He glanced at the woman, but she appeared to have nothing to add.

Felipe looked at Senora Neilson with a combination of nervousness and irritation, then turned away from all of them and went back inside.

Gilberto made himself lead Victoria and Senora Neilson away from the door. "Thank you, ladies. We're indebted for your kindness and help." He was a little surprised that he could manage being polite. "I'll take him home now. I'm sure he'll be fine after a good night's rest." He even smiled.

Victoria didn't smile back. "Gilberto - " she began. "That is - I do hope - "

She didn't seem to know what to say and Gilberto didn't have the energy to fool with her uncertainty. "Everything will be fine," he said firmly, turning away from them.

Back inside the newspaper office he shut the door. Felipe had produced an old, ink-stained shirt from somewhere and he and Father Benitez were helping Diego change into it. Gilberto went over and sat on the edge of the desk. "How is he?"

Diego wearily raised his head and looked at him. "_He_ is fine."

"Oh, yes, you look it." In fact, he looked bedraggled and pale and about ten years older than he had that morning.

"Don't scold," Felipe admonished.

"No, I'll save that for later." He turned to the priest. "Can I take him home?"

"Take him home and put him in bed." He was frowning at all of them. "I suppose you were up to something clever? No, I don't want to hear about it. I thought the two of you had better sense than to toy with this Englishman. Emilio Pascal may yet die of his injuries. As for this water cure," he crossed himself. "I have no idea if it will last or if it can be used of again. And before you ask, no, I have not heard of any such thing. A surprise like that...should _not _cause an improvement."

"She said...she said at the wrong time, it could cause fainting."

"How very helpful. The cure is side by side with the curse." He threw up his hands. "Just get him home and watch his medication tonight." He sighed. "Best start with the dandelion, again, Felipe. It won't do any harm if he doesn't need it."

**Diego**

The ride home was horrible. His head hurt and his right arm ached to the bone. He was exhausted.

There was no resting on the ride; the rig bounced with every rut in the road, and he was afraid, if he relaxed too much, that he would slide out of the seat.

The ride home seemed to last forever, until he looked up at the front gate and measured the distance to the front door. And after that to the back hall. And down that hall to his bedroom, some dozen feet further along the corridor than his old bedroom...

Gilberto reached up and took his arm, keeping him from falling on the vast leap to the ground. 'Berto chatted softly on the long, slow journey across the tiny front yard. "We should get you to bed and then go find Father. This will go much better if he doesn't hear about it from someone else."

Felipe trailed along behind, carrying Diego's jacket and sword.

Father came out of his office just as they entered the front door. He nodded a greeting to them - and then stopped and looked again. "Diego? Did something happen?"

Gilberto groaned very, very softly. "I will tell you in a minute, Father. Diego really should sit down."

Diego steered toward the library, though. He would never make it to his room. One humiliating collapse today was enough. Gilberto eased him into an armchair and popped a stool beneath his feet.

"Why is Felipe carrying a sword?" And then, "This isn't decorative."

Gilberto sighed. "No, Father."

Diego closed his eyes. "I challenged Thackery."

Silence greeted that.

Diego opened his eyes. Father was standing at the fireplace leaning on the mantle. He was absolutely ridged.

"It wasn't 'Berto's fault," Diego said. "I waited until he was down checking on the new - "

Father spun around, piercing Diego with a look that was as sharp as a sword. Diego closed his mouth.

"You were dueling. Actually - "

Dueling. Diego nodded.

"Were you injured?"

Diego shook his head.

Father considered for a moment. "Did you win?"

"No," Diego whispered. "I fainted."

"I see."

"Father," Gilberto began.

"_You_, be quiet. Are you going to try to tell me you had no idea he was planning this?"

He had been hoping they could deny it, but Father had had a twin once. Sometimes he could see what passed between his boys far too clearly. This could become a terrible row. "Father - " he begged softly.

"I can't imagine what he said to talk you into it, though, God knows, I'm not surprised he succeeded. Sometimes you have no sense. Of all the stupid, irresponsible - "

Gilberto went white.

"Father," Diego began again.

"If he'd been killed, _you_ would have challenged Thackery. I know you. And I would have lost both of you then. My God, you'd leave me with nothing. Did you even think of that?"

"He was grabbing Victoria. He had his _hands_ on her," Diego protested with as much strength as he could manage. "I couldn't have let that go, even if I wanted to."

Alejandro closed his eyes. "Go to your room, Gilberto. We'll finish this later."

While Gilberto withdrew, Father buried his face in his hands and shuddered. He looked like a very old man.

"I'm sorry," Diego whispered.

Alejandro sighed. "Shall we get you to bed?"

Diego let himself be walked to his room. His father and Felipe stripped off his shoes and changed him into a nightshirt. Felipe gave Father a wide berth, but there was no sign at all that Father was angry with him, so Diego didn't worry about it.

It was already dusk and the room was full of shadows. The bed was soft and it was very good to have his shoes off. Felipe put a cup of tea in his hands, and Diego got a few swallows down before leaning back against the pillows and drifting off.

He woke to lamplight and Felipe gently urging him to eat something. There was broth and bread and a little dish of greens. The greens were the most important thing, and he ate them first. The rest? He couldn't even manufacture interest.

Felipe didn't complain when he took away the untouched dishes. Diego worried, briefly, about Father's anger. And about Gilberto, exiled to his room. And Felipe, who was frowning as he bustled around the room, so worried. But there was nothing he could do for any of them right now. He slid back into sleep.

**Alejandro**

Surely, it had only been a matter of time. Diego couldn't be reasonable and patient forever. The boy's spirit must surely be railing against his limitations. Sooner or later he would have thrown a tantrum or done something reckless. Frankly, it was nothing short of a miracle that that Diego was so mild and pleasant to live with most days.

He had nearly gotten himself killed today. A miscalculation? An overabundance of optimism? He had been doing very well lately.

Oh, but it was also possible he found both outcomes - victory _and_ defeat - equally desirable. Wasn't it?

No. Not that. He would never believe that Diego was seeking the tip of a sword, something quick and painless. No. Both of his sons were arrogant. Diego was only more polite about it. It was entirely plausible that he had _believed_ he could defeat this foreign champion.

And the situation with Thackery was certainly urgent. Particularly so, if he was threatening to compromise Victoria. Diego had been right, at least in the idea that Thackery _had_ to be stopped.

Everyone was going about it the wrong way, however. Fighting this predator on his own terms? A fool's game. Alejandro could easily see a better way.

The plan was so incredibly simple it was a wonder no one else had thought of it. The core of the Thackery problem was that he was an expert swordsman. Anyone who took offense at his calculatingly offensive behavior and challenged him would have to face him with steel. The few people who couldn't avoid him crept around on tiptoes hoping they wouldn't be noticed. This was exactly the wrong tactic to take.

If a man insulted Thackery so that _he _took offense and demanded satisfaction, it would be the instigator who chose the weapons. Alejandro had never been unusually gifted with a sword, and he knew he'd lost some strength and speed - well, in fact, quite a lot of strength and speed - over the last twenty years. But he was an excellent shot with a pistol, and he hadn't lost that with age. His eyesight was still quite good and his hand was steady.

He didn't know what kind of marksman Thackery was, but it was worth taking the chance that he had no special talent. Something had to be done, and this route was the most likely to succeed in getting rid of the man.

~tbc

_Footnote: It is called a 'diving reflex,' and it is a function of the vagus nerve. For most mammals, when our faces get wet and cold, our hearts slow down and our blood pressure drops. This makes it sort of like a reset button for some kinds of tachycardia. However, when blood pressure is generally low to begin with, it can also cause fainting. _


	14. November 24, 1814

**November 24, 1814**

**Diego**

When he woke again it was the dim, grey of dawn. Father stood by the window, the white hairs in his mane catching the light. He was staring out the window. He left without noticing that Diego had woken up.

His right arm was stiff and painful. The tournament sword was a third again heaver than the practice sword, and the duel had gone on much longer than his recent practice sessions with Gilberto.

The duel itself had been magnificent. Thackery was truly a brilliant swordsman. Diego had not faced such a marvelous challenge in a very long time. Gilberto was excellent, but Diego knew all his tricks. Those few minutes in the plaza, testing the Englishman's defense...the memory made him ache with longing.

And he'd thought he had managed to make himself forget how badly he missed it.

He heard Felipe in the sitting room and quickly composed himself.

Breakfast was atole with bread and jam and lamb sausage - and steamed dandelion greens. At least at this time of year they weren't so bitter. He could have refused them by pointing out that he was, in fact, voiding fine. It hardly seemed worth the argument.

Felipe paused to consider him when he took away the breakfast dishes. "Are you all right?"

Diego shrugged his left shoulder. "I assume I'm confined to my room?"

"To the house," Felipe answered. "You can get up."

"Maybe a little later," Diego said. That earned him a sharp look. Realizing his mistake, Diego said, "I'm a little sore. I'm not used to being so...active."

Felipe might have pressed the point, but Gilberto came in then. He grinned. "Well, today at least you don't look like the fifth day of a three-day round up."

Diego took a deep breath and sat up. "So glad you approve."

"I would have come sooner, but I thought it best to stay out of the way until Father left."

"I'm sorry," Diego said.

"Not your fault," Gilbert answered. He sat down on the edge of the bed and lifted one of Diego's hands. How often had they done this, Gilberto coming in to cheer his poor, ill brother? Too many days had already passed this way, and there would be many more to come. It was all Diego could do not to look away.

"I paid a visit to Mendoza last night."

"Mendoza? Not the alcalde?"

Gilberto shrugged. "Well. You know him. As eager as he is to see the back of Thackery, he won't be able to forget how much he wants Zorro. He'd agree to anything, yes, but then there would be a trap in there somewhere. Mendoza, at least, is honest."

Diego had to agree this was good thinking.

"By noon today, every last soldier in our garrison will be on patrol at least three miles away. There will be no one in town to arrest me. Nice, no? Well, except for Vasquez who took that fall to the head last week and keeps seeing double...and the guard at the gate. But his powder will be wet."

Diego nodded.

"Now. There was something you were very eager to tell me yesterday."

Diego took a deep breath and closed his eyes, remembering Thackery looking back over the length of a sword. "He makes things fancier than necessary. Very elegant."

"Very fast."

"He is fond of a compound riposte. Lovely, but vulnerable to a remise. Or a redoublement."

"His footwork - "

"Is overcomplicated, I know. But his balance is excellent. Don't rely on being able to defeat him there. And keep your parries simple."

Gilberto sighed and looked at the ceiling. "Two more minutes and you would have had him yesterday."

"Yes, and while we're at it, let's cry over spilt milk, shall we?" He was unable to keep the bite out of his voice.

"Diego..."

"Yes, I know. Ignore me. I'm in a truly foul mood."

He considered for several long seconds. Then he pointed at the bedside table. "Did you notice? Some of that mail was for you. Three letters from Europe."

Diego glanced at them. "Oh," he said. "I've been busy."

"Well? Don't you want to read them?"

Felipe tapped his arm and nodded vigorously. Gilberto laughed.

"Later, perhaps," Diego said.

"Fine. Then I shall read them to you." It didn't seem worth it to refuse and order him out. Gilberto had some two hours before he needed to leave for town. He should not spend them wandering around the house brooding over poor, fragile Diego.

The first letter was from Eduardo Lopez, an engineering student Diego had worked with on the glider experiments. He was getting married, which was good news. He had also taken a position with the military working on weapons development. Eduardo also considered this good news, but Diego only found it depressing. Eduardo's designs had always been elegant and efficient. He should be designing bridges and tunnels, not new ways of killing people...

The second letter was from Daniel Delourgefoucar. "He is the worst bore in Europe," Diego complained.

"I'll translate it," Gilberto offered slyly. Gilberto's translations from the French were always _accurate_ but amusingly skewed. It was all in the selection of a synonym.

"If you wish."

It was all gossip, of course, and lamenting Napoleon's latest losses (the list of which, Diego couldn't help thinking, would go nicely in _The Guardian_). There had been a scandalous stock exchange fraud in London. The duke of Angouleme was rumored to be planning marriage (or forming alliances, there was no telling what the original intent was with Gilberto translating).

And then Gilberto froze, staring at the thin paper.

"What is it?"

"Manzini, Duke de Montenier took the prize at Nice." Gilberto looked up, his eyes wide. "He beat Sir Miles Thackery."

Diego's jaw dropped. He sat up, leaning forward. "You're kidding."

"God in heaven," Gilberto whispered.

"Well. That certainly puts a new light on things," Diego said.

Felipe lifted a hand and signed confusion.

"He was made to feel very small," Diego said. "He came here to feel big again."

"He came here because he had to be sure of winning every fight - he assumes we're so backward out here that there will be no competition."

Diego rolled his eyes.

"It's not even going to be hard," Gilberto said, shaking his head.

"Right, so you might as well get sloppy," Diego said tartly.

"I didn't say that."

"Don't think it, either. He was still undefeated for eight years."

"Yes, Mother."

Diego rolled his eyes, but he felt unaccountably lighter. He leaned back against the pillows and let the anxious knot in his belly loosen and dissipate. Gilberto would be fine.

**Alejandro **

He'd meant to go directly to the tavern, but he caught sight of Daniil Neilson outside the wagoner's shop. He got the detailed version of the duel the night before. The whole story had a number of surprises. First, Diego had lasted much longer than anyone else against Thackery. Second, although Daniil was admittedly no judge himself, the consensus in town was that Diego had been winning before his illness overcame him. Third, Gilberto had offered to finish his brother's fight at some later date when he wasn't 'busy' with more important things.

That last froze Alejandro's heart. Gilberto was short tempered, but he didn't make threats idly. When he was done fussing over Diego he would certainly seek Thackery out. Surely, it was pure luck that it hadn't happened already. Alejandro said his polite good-byes and hurried to the tavern with renewed urgency.

He ordered orange juice and sat at the bar. The tavern was nearly empty, but it was late morning. The lunch rush hadn't started. A couple of old men sitting on the porch, three men from the drayage at San Pedro, a well-dressed stranger...everyone else had apparently been chased off by Thackery, who sat in the middle of the room drinking tea and reading a book.

Alejandro made conversation with the stranger, a thin, weedy man. He was a tutor on his way to a ranch north of Santa Barbara. They talked about weather and news from the coast. Thackery insulted the man when he was passing by on his way to the privy, but the little man had been warned. He apologized nervously and hurried on out the door.

Thackery sighed and ordered some cake to snack on. He was very fastidious. He was deadly with a sword, but neat about it. Alejandro couldn't imagine him actually brawling, for example. He might even think it beneath him.

Alejandro used to get into brawls fairly frequently. He was not afraid to get filthy or bruise his knuckles. And he would certainly enjoy landing a few good punches to that ugly nose. Would a fistfight solve the problem as neatly as a pistol duel? Regretfully, he had to admit it probably wouldn't.

He wondered if mocking the man's nose would sufficiently provoke him. Or was there something better? Alejandro wished he had taken more time to study his opponent.

Victoria came out and asked if Alejandro wanted lunch. That late already and not a single lancer in the tavern? No wonder she looked so unhappy. "Not the best day for business," he said sympathetically.

Her eyes hardened with a hatred that made him pull back. "If I were a man..." she whispered. "But. I am not. I am an innkeeper, and I will serve lunch."

"I'm sure it's very good," he said, hoping it was the right thing.

That got an odd smile. "Oh, it is. Senora Neilson made it. She has this trick with left-over roast beef and sour cream. It's quite extraordinary." She dropped her eyes. "I was wondering...how is Diego today?"

"Diego is fine. I've confined him to the house, but mostly that is because I don't trust him not to start fights, not because he is seriously ill." Inwardly he laughed at that: where could Diego have gotten these reckless tendencies? The truth was, Alejandro didn't have to look past the end of his own nose to find the answer to that question.

She nodded seriously.

As delicious as lunch sounded - and he was a bit curious about Russian food, though he hadn't given it much thought before - he didn't want to fight on a full stomach. As he stood up, though, Felipe walked into the tavern.

If Alejandro was surprised to see him, Felipe nearly jumped with shock and consternation. Alejandro scowled and motioned him over. Did he drag his feet as he came? "If you are here with Diego," he began softly.

Felipe vigorously shook his head. He signed, "Newspaper," and "Messy."

"Ah. I suppose dueling gets in the way of clearing out the type."

Felipe nodded. Alejandro clinched his teeth. He needed to get rid of Felipe before beginning something with Thackery. He could get the boy lunch and send him on his way -

Zorro walked calmly in through the open front door. He glanced around the room and walked calmly to the bar. The few people in the room simply goggled. Zorro was usually running or swinging from something or racing past on that horse of his or fighting with someone. He didn't stroll. And the quiet was surprising, too. Usually he was followed everywhere by cries of, "There he is!" and "Get him!"

Thackery, who made it a point to show that everyone around him was beneath his notice was the last to observe Zorro's arrival, and he only gave the masked man a slightly puzzled glance.

Zorro came to the bar and nodded politely to Consuela. "I'd like pitcher of wine," he said. "Not your best."

Consuela filled a pitcher from the kask behind her and handed it over with shaking hands. Zorro thanked her very grandly and placed an entire peso on the bar.

Victoria came out of the kitchen carrying Alejandro's lunch. She saw Zorro and halted so quickly she nearly lost her balance. Driven by a sudden, vivid image about what was about to unfold, Alejandro collected Felipe and then Victoria and pulled them well of the way.

Zorro walked up to Thackery. "Good day, Senor."

"What exactly are you supposed to be? Is there a fancy dress ball? I must say, your tailor lacks imagination."

Zorro upended the pitcher of wine on his head.

Thackery leapt to his feet so quickly his chair tipped over. His sword was already in his hand. "I'll kill you for that!"

Zorro drew lazily. "You've been in town for two days now, and you haven't managed to kill anybody yet...despite 'trying.' You really think you're going to succeed now?"

Thackery fought down his rage and taunted, "Your name, Senor, so we know where to send the remains?"

"Thank you anyway," Zorro said sweetly. "Say, can we take this outside? I'd hate to damage Senorita Victoria's furniture."

"No traps outside. Here and now, bandit."

"I will cover the damages," Alejandro called cheerfully. He was a bit disappointed that Zorro had gotten there first...but this would be the show of a _lifetime_. Oh, yes.

Grinning, Zorro saluted him, then turned back and saluted Thackery.

And then it started.

The combatants came together like two sailing ships colliding - elegantly at first and then an explosion of fury and noise. Thackery was angry. He attacked and attacked. Zorro was liquid in his movements, turning one strike aside and slipping away from the next. He led Thackery in circles. Thackery pursued with a single-minded determination for what felt like hours but was surely only three or four minutes.

At last he broke off his attack and stepped back. He studied Zorro, panting, for a long moment. "Who the blazes are you?" he panted at last.

"The Fox," he answered with no special emphasis. "A humble student of the Duke de Montenier."

Was it possible that Thackery actually flinched at that? "You've studied with Montenier?"

Zorro smiled. "Oh, indeed. The only man to best you in competition, and, I believe, the reason why you're here: to hide your shame and vent your wrath on men of lesser ability."

With a growl, Thackery dove forward, trying to get a swift thrust under Zorro's guard. Zorro parried it easily, but didn't offer a return. Thackery swung at Zorro's head, his hip, landed neither blow and thrust again, putting his weight behind it. Zorro stepped aside, and Thackery's momentum tripped him. Zorro struck him across his back with the flat of his sword. Thackery turned too quickly, blinded by rage. Zorro knocked his sword out of the way with enough force to turn Thackery's torso. As he turned, Zorro's fist connected hard with has jaw.

Thackery fell as far as his knees. Zorro knocked the sword out of his opponent's slack hand and seized him by the throat. "Well, Senor," Zorro said coldly, "I have beaten you with a sword. Would you say that makes me the better man?"

Snarling, Thackery tried to lash out with one knee. Zorro managed to dodge the worst of it and slammed Thackery's head into the side of the nearest table before throwing him onto the floor. He looked down at him for a long moment. "Skill with a sword, does it make a man worthy? Fencing is a matter of practice, that is all." He tisked mockingly. "_Any_ man can improve with practice. Talent then? It is a talent for death. Better you should play the piano or plant crops or write inspiring sermons! Skill and talent are only as valuable as the use to which they're put, and you have used yours only to serve your own ego."

Angrily, he looked around the tavern, spotted Thackery's sword, and picked it up. "So a man beat you in competition and that broke you?" He slammed the sword flat-side down on a table, and the metal sheared with a horrible sound. The point flipped in the air and landed with a hollow clang. "So easily broken! I know men who have faced much worse than losing a duel, who face worse every day, and remain unbroken! And you? You lose one fight and you travel six thousand miles in search of defenseless people you can pick on." He turned away disgustedly. "Get your things. You have five minutes to get out of town."

Zorro took off his hat and sat at a table in the corner. He looked expectantly at Victoria. Fumbling, she rushed to the back and returned with a plate of food and silverware. "This smells wonderful," Zorro said gallantly, pretending not to notice Thackery picking himself up from the floor.

Victoria had a harder time keeping her eyes from straying to Thackery. "Russian food," she answered stiffly. "Senora Neilson's recipe. Who would have thought it in my little tavern?"

Thackery stumbled up the stairs.

Victoria leaned down and said softly to Zorro, "Thank you."

"It was my pleasure, I assure you." He didn't smile. "Sit down, if you like. I expect it will be a short wait." And he ate. Calmly, as though he were not a wanted man. As though he had not thoroughly routed and mocked a champion swordsman.

Stiffly, Victoria sat.

Alejandra considered for a moment and moved into a position where he had a clear view of the stairs.

The tutor put a coin on the bar and said to Consuela, "Wait 'till I write home...I bought a glass of wine for a legend."

Consuela brought a whole pitcher and a fancy glass. When she put them down on the table she remained there, staring at Zorro.

He tilted his head up at her.

"You beat the great champion of Europe," she said. "You must be the best swordsman in - in - all of the colonies!"

He shook his head cheerfully. "Not even in town. I saw the fight yesterday; de le Vega was better."

"Don Diego?" Victoria asked. "Was he a better swordsman than Thackery?" She seemed pleased at the thought.

"He is a better swordsman than me."

Alejandro closed his eyes. _Diego, Diego..._

A thump on the stairs: Thackery hauling his own trunk down. He made a slow job of it. Nobody moved to help him. Zorro kept eating, slow, small, mechanical bites.

In the main room, Thackery paused. "The coach, it doesn't come until Saturday..."

With his fork, Zorro pointed outside the door. "There should be a mule and cart waiting. I bought them from the livery. Consider them a gift." He pointedly turned back to Victoria and Consuela and said something that made the women laugh.

Thackery gave Zorro a last hostile look and dragged his trunk outside.

Alejandro went to the window and watched Thackery heave his load into the tiny cart that was indeed waiting.

"Well!" said the traveling tutor, "That was amazing!"

Now that the enemy was gone, Zorro had abandoned his meal and risen. "Don't assume it is finished, gentlemen. Though I hope it is...He is very angry. And if he wishes to take revenge, he will not be able to find _me_."

Alejandro nodded. "We need to spread the word. People should be careful." He winced. "He won't be grateful that you didn't kill him."

"I hope he is the only one to suffer for that choice," Zorro said. He watched from the tavern porch until Thackery disappeared down the road. Then he politely said good-bye, whistled for that miraculous horse of his, and trotted off at considerably less than his usual speed.

**November 30, 1814**

**Diego**

Felipe and Nicholas had chased him from the newspaper office as soon as they returned from selling their newspapers. Did he think they couldn't handle clearing the plates? It was a bit embarrassing, actually, the worried looks they gave Diego when they thought he wasn't looking.

He could go home to rest, but he wasn't tired; they hadn't really let him set any type the night before, either. Well. The one article he'd tried to lay out had been disgracefully error-ridden, hadn't it? He could scarcely blame them for their worried looks. Or their barely-hidden impatience.

It was still early enough in the day to be chilly, so Diego had gone to the tavern. A mistake, he was quickly realizing. On market day the tavern was crowded and cheerful, and he didn't feel like joining the conversations. Victoria was very busy, too, and didn't have time to talk. She had placed a cup of atole at his elbow while passing. Diego tried not to see a message in that: there was no chocolate to be had anymore, and even tea and coffee were getting scarce.

And so what if it _had_ been a message? If Victoria kept trying to slip him nourishing drinks because she thought he was frail, well, it wasn't as though her perception was inaccurate. And it would be absurd to hope she could somehow forget, not when she saw him collapse in the plaza just a week ago.

Damn. Damn.

Really, he was not fit company for anyone. He should just go home and spare the innocent pueblo his ugly mood...

Mendoza came in just then, carrying his battered mailbag. "It can't be another ship," Diego said in surprise. Everyone had stopped talking to stare at that mailbag, so the question seemed to ring loudly in the silence.

Mendoza laughed. "Too much to hope for, eh? Of course, that last ship brought nothing but trouble. I think I've had enough of crazy Europeans for a while... No, we had a courier this morning." He glanced at the faces in the tavern and began to dig through the bag. "Thank heaven he arrived on market day. This will save us a lot of riding around."

The room remained quiet as Mendoza moved from table to table handing out envelopes. Victoria looked at her distracted customers for a moment and then seated herself across from Diego. "I have not had a chance to look at the newspaper," she said conversationally. "Anything interesting?"

"Aside from the bear that overturned that corncrib at the mission? Not really."

"Oh..."

Mendoza paused beside them and Diego held out his hand. "Oh, not for you," he said cheerfully. "I ran in to your father outside. This is for Senorita Victoria," and he set an envelope on the table in front of her.

Victoria blinked at it in surprise for a moment before snatching it up and tearing it open with her fingers. "It's from Francisco!" she gasped. "He's coming to visit!" Her eyes ranged over the single, thin page. "He's fine. Oh, he's been promoted! And he's coming to visit!"

"Does it say when?" Diego asked.

She frowned. "No, he's not sure. In a month or two. Oh, but this was written a month ago. It went around the long way to Monterrey. He's still stationed in Mexico City."

It was very good news. Victoria hadn't seen either of her brothers in...it must be over five years, by now. The difficulties that overcame the Escalante family - well, that terrible business had happened while the twins were in Madrid, and Father had been circumspect in his letters. "Congratulations." It hardly seemed adequate, but Diego had no idea what else to add.

Victoria read the letter again, leapt to her feet, and hugged Diego absently before rushing off to the kitchens. Perhaps, he thought sourly, she was going to start getting ready. After all, at most he'd be here in a month and there must be _so_ much to do.

Diego pushed his unfinished atole aside and went home.

**Alejandro**

Market day was too busy and crowded, and Alejandro had no time to sit down and read the mail until he got home just before siesta. The first letter was from that rascal, Hernando Santa Cruz, trying to pressure Alejandro into selling one of the young rams from the tiny flock of ugly sheep. As though Alejandro could spare one! Outrageous. Hmmm. He would take a day or two and try to compose a polite reply of some kind...

The second letter was from an old friend in Monterrey. It came in a large, fat envelope that turned out to be stuffed with a copy of The Californian, the newspaper of the territorial capital. It was more than two weeks old and accompanied only by a brief note.

"_Some travelers had a copy of the newspaper you yokels print out in the boondocks. Imagine my surprise to find it so much better than the disaster we have here in the 'civilized' capital. And then, to find your son is the editor, ha! _

_(Surely there cannot be another Diego de le Vega in that tiny village!)_

_Congratulations, old friend. You must be very proud. _

_Carlos Frontera _

Alejandro hadn't heard from Frontera for years. He wasn't much for letter writing. Even now, he hadn't bothered to include any news. Still, little jokes about Los Angeles aside, the packet was kindly meant...

Very kindly meant. Frontera had never even met Diego.

Carefully, Alejandro opened the tightly folded newsprint. A quick glance told him that Frontera had been right: there were two typographical errors and one grammar mistake in the first paragraph of the lead story...and the story itself was poorly written and confusing. Alejandro found himself smiling.

Gathering up the letter and the newspaper, he went in to the central hall. Felipe was just coming in, his hands still stained from the morning print run. He seemed to be alone.

"Where is Diego?" Alejandro asked.

Felipe's eyes widened. "Not with me. He left town hours ago."

_Not_ with Felipe? He tilted back his head and bellowed "Diego!" There was no answer. "Perhaps he's resting," but when Alejandro poked his nose into Diego's bedroom he found it empty.

Felipe gently tugged Alejandro's sleeve.

Surely, there was nothing to worry about. He made himself smile calmly. "Go make sure Esperanza is in the corral. I'll check the garden."

He was somewhere around, of course. He must be. What danger could Diego possibly get into, after all? Alejandro pushed aside an image of the swordfight and hurried out the back door.

He was on the bench beside the rose trellis. Alejandro concealed is impatience (after all, it was hardly Diego's fault that Alejandro was a bit anxious) and strolled over to stand beside him.

"Hello, Father. Back from town so soon?"

"It is after lunch, Diego." Diego had not been sleeping, he realized. Not napping or reading or painting. Nothing. The day's newspaper and a quill were lying on the bench beside him, but there were no circles on the paper to show that he had checked it over for mistakes.

"Oh. I must have lost track of time."

Slowly, Alejandro set the copy of _The Guardian _to one side and sat down. "Are you feeling all right?"

Diego seemed almost surprised by the question. "I'm fine, thank you," he answered formally.

Alejandro glanced at the abandoned _Guardian_ and managed a smile. "You might find this more interesting," he said, holding out the creased copy of the _Californian_.

Diego took it politely and looked the page over. "_The Californian_. Not terribly modest, but I suppose _The Guardian_ isn't any better."

"Apparently quite a bit better, at least as far as content goes," Alejandro corrected. He held out the letter.

He thought Diego would be pleased at the praise, but he only asked, "A friend of yours? I don't recognize the name..."

"From my old cavalry days." He waited a moment, but Diego didn't say anything. "He seems to be right; yours is much better."

Diego glanced up from the paper to smile sadly. "I'm pleased you think so, Father."

"I realize that modesty is a virtue, but you might do with a little less of it."

"Of course I'm delighted," Diego answered. His smile didn't reach his eyes. "This is very gratifying."

The urge to throw something or shout - there was no reason for it. Diego's behavior was polite, attentive, impeccable. He had given his father no reason for complaint. Alejandro closed his eyes briefly. "I was thinking, it might be nice to ride out to the shore tomorrow?" It came out a question.

Diego nodded. "If you'd like," he said agreeably.

Defeated, Alejandro reminded him that they were expecting Don Carlos for dinner and retreated back to the house.

~tbc


	15. December 4, 1814

_Katta is right. Life isn't like a chess game where you have a winner and a loser and then the game is over and that is the end of it. In life, win or lose, you must go on, and live with it, enduring all the consequences, responsibilities, and - possibly - regrets. _

**December 4, 1814**

**Diego**

The journal in his hands ought to hold his attention. For some reason, though, reading in English was much more difficult than usual. The topic - an investigation of the affect of temperature on electrical conductivity that expanded on some early work by Benjamin Franklin - certainly should have been interesting. But his eyes kept drifting away from the page.

The birds outside were too loud. The chair was too soft. Felipe was watching him over the top of his own book. Gilberto, humming in the next room, was slightly off-key.

Sighing, he set aside the journal and stood up. Felipe glanced up at once and started to rise. Diego waved him back, ignoring Felipe's unhappy look. He was only going into the garden. He didn't need a nursemaid.

In the hallway, he encountered his father coming the other way. "Ah, Diego," he said. "A word?" So Diego followed him back into the office.

Instead of speaking right away, Father considered him for a moment and then sat down. "So serious?" Diego asked.

"Not at all. Trivial, in fact. Sit down, Diego."

So he sat, his eyes drifting to the colors of the glass paperweight on the desk. Father lifted a ledger from the stack and passed it, open, across the desk. "The sum of seventeen and thirty?" he asked.

"Forty-seven," Diego said absently.

"Not thirty-seven?"

Diego's head shot up. "Oh, I didn't!" he said, suddenly alert and absolutely mortified.

Father sighed.

"I apologize," Diego said immediately. "I'll check over - " Father was shaking his head. "You've already done it. How bad?"

"Three mistakes, Diego."

Three mistakes. And _Father _had found them. Diego felt like he was nine. "Father, I assure you - "

"What concerns me most is that this is just not like you, Diego."

He could feel himself flushing now. Could this get any more humiliating?

"I was wondering...how you've been feeling lately...?"

Because, naturally, humiliation was trivial compared to Diego's other problem: the endless anxiety and sadness he brought on his family. "I am feeling very well, Father."

That earned him a thoughtful look rather than acceptance. Diego did not make mistakes, after all. 'Berto might; _he_ was only human. But Diego? Never.

Diego swallowed his irritation. "Truly, Father. I've had two of my episodes in the last week. Both resolved at once when I put my head in a basin of water." He tried to smile. "In that respect, things have improved immeasurably. Now there is only the small matter of keeping me from dripping everywhere..." The joke fell flat. It hadn't been very good.

Father ignored the pathetic attempt at levity. He said, "Perhaps it is a matter of time, then, Diego. When I asked you to take over the books, you had very little to occupy you. Now that you are running the newspaper..."

Diego shook his head. "Perhaps a month or two ago, but we're quite good at it now. Please. Father. There isn't any _reason_. I was...inattentive. That's all. It won't happen again."

It was too much to hope for, that this might be the end of it. Father leaned back in his chair, thinking. Diego tried not to clinch his teeth.

"I don't suppose you'd care to tell me what's been so distracting?"

Diego had no answer for that. He had no explanation for his restlessness, his lack of focus, or his irritability. Physically, he _was_ fine, or at least as well as he'd been in the last two years. He really wasn't busy. And if he was unhappy, he had no reason to be. None. "I have no excuse," he said.

Father sighed.

"I was going for a walk outside..." Diego said. "If you'd like to join me?"

Father shook his head and motioned him to go. Released, Diego went into the garden. He pretended it didn't feel like running away.

**Felipe **

When Diego left, he gave up on the book he was reading - theology, since it was Sunday, a long, odd discussion on the nature of souls. If he trusted Diego's mood a little more, Felipe would have asked him how to measure a soul. Surely it was a Mystery, so an essay full of speculation was pointless. Surely.

Theologians could go on and on about it though.

Felipe put the book on the shelf and slipped down to the cave. It was quiet there. Toronado had had a long run the day before. Not business, just Zorro out being visible to some farmers toward the coast.

Today, Toronado was relaxed and a little playful. He kept trying to nibble at Felipe's hair. Rudely, he searched Felipe's pockets and sash until he found the apple that was hidden there. Felipe shouldn't have allowed it; Diego would say he was spoiling Toronado. But really? Felipe had no chance of _making_ the stallion behave.

He brushed the silky flanks and broad back. He combed out the long mane and tail. He changed the water and set out grain and hay. When he had done everything, he looked for other things to do. He didn't hear Gilberto until he was a couple of feet away.

Felipe rolled his eyes. "Show off. Don't sneak around."

"I wasn't!" he protested innocently. He held out the practice swords. "We could go out to the ravine."

It was Sunday afternoon. Strictly speaking, lessons weren't allowed... On the other hand, this wasn't quite _work_, either. And no one would know. Felipe took a sword and followed him down the narrow cave and out into the tiny, shadowed valley.

Diego hadn't come to the last several lessons. Perhaps he was afraid of triggering another bad spell, or perhaps he was just angry at how badly the fight in town had gone. Felipe was tempted to use the word 'sulking' but that was uncharitable - and anyway, he couldn't really believe it of Diego. Not really. Gilberto said to leave him alone. Felipe didn't have any better ideas...

Diego wasn't sick. He was sleeping well and walking easily. There had been no trouble with his balance today in church. Both the doctor and Father Benitez had examined him and neither had found any evidence that his duel with Thackery had done any lasting harm.

Gilberto slid his toe behind Felipe's heel and dumped him hard on the short grass. "Pay attention. A sword is in your hand. Your mind is here. Get up and try to put up some kind of guard."

Gilberto, for his part, was a bit less patient this last week than usual. Which was pathetic, in a way, since he was obviously _trying_ to be nice. He didn't have much talent for it, though, and it showed. Despite his best intentions, he kept point out other people's faults. And half the time, he forgot to say 'thank you,' which was actually a step below his usual behavior.

Felipe kept his mind on his guard, watching Gilberto's approaches as he tested again and again. Half the time the flashing sword got through. Stingingly.

"Stop thinking. Relax."

There was no way to protest that (since he wasn't permitted to talk), but he couldn't stop thinking _and_ pay attention.

Finally, Gilberto waved him to stop and paced away, rolling his shoulders in a way that said he was struggling with patience again. "You're not doing that badly, really. You follow through without unbalancing yourself." He was facing away, so he expected no answer.

Felipe waited.

Gilberto took out a handkerchief and wiped the back of his neck, though he had hardly worked up a sweat on this little lesson. When he turned, he said, "What did you get him?"

Felipe set is sword aside so he could talk with both hands. "I made him a birdhouse. He likes them. You?"

"Paints, of course. Cochineal is expensive enough to meet expectations." That was just the public gift. The real present was a box of different kinds of cords: material for fuses, different compositions and thicknesses for the explosives experiments. Felipe had helped gather samples. "I don't suppose...?"

Felipe shook his head. He knew, but he wasn't telling. "I suppose it's easy enough to keep secrets when you can't talk," Gilberto observed sourly.

Felipe rolled his eyes and waited. Pointedly.

Gilberto sighed. "I apologize. That was unbecoming."

"Well, you _are_ kind of a jerk."

That earned him a startled laugh. "Surely, I'm not usually this bad."

Felipe pretended to think about it. Gilberto took a mocking swing at him, telegraphing clearly so Felipe could duck and gather up the sword tucked under his arm. In an irritatingly graceful move, Gilberto snatched up the practice sword and flipped it neatly. When he came at Felipe he was _slow_, just a little. It was obvious what he was doing as the light sword slid through the air toward Felipe's head. He tossed it aside with the tip of his own blade and slipped in close, under Gilberto's absurdly long reach.

This close, his height wasn't a disadvantage. He followed through and brought his sword around in a circle, coming up from below and making Gilberto hop frantically - comically - backwards.

Felipe was so surprised at his success that he nearly tripped over his own feet. If Gilberto himself hadn't been laughing so hard, Felipe surely would have been neatly dropped on his rear again.

**Victoria**

On Sundays when there were no overnight guests, the tavern only served one large meal during the day and closed well before sundown. This gave Victoria two or three evenings a month when she was completely free. And normally she prized the quiet. An evening she could sit and work on needlepoint or read a book or go for a walk was a treat. It was a waste not to relax and enjoy it.

Strangely, she wasn't enjoying it, though she had tried the needlepoint _and _the book. She restlessly paced the tavern, banked the fire, counted the candles, checked the bedding by habit...she paused to look out the windows upstairs. Town was very quiet. From the smallest bedroom she could just see the piles of constructions supplies that marked Don Alejandro's new house. She looked for a long time and then let the curtain drop. She sighed.

After mass this morning several of the farmers had been comparing Zorro stories. There had been a little teasing speculation that Victoria might have the best stories of all - nothing improper, thank heaven. That was a disaster she couldn't afford. But no, Zorro never stayed still long enough to break _those_ sorts of rules and no one in town seemed to think he had.

But Zorro had defeated Thackery in Victoria's own tavern. And Victoria was a beautiful, young woman. Perhaps - perhaps - for her the notorious bandit might settle down.

Victoria found herself fervently wishing she was neither beautiful nor young. Middle-aged and frumpy, yes, long past the age where she needed to worry about appearances or marriageablity, with three or four children Felipe's age and a husband...

When she had been younger, she used to dream that husband would be Diego. Before she knew better. Before Diego became so ill. Before watching Zorro ride through the pueblo had put such...strange and amazing ideas in her head.

Before she had learned that she could take care of herself. A woman who was married, her husband took care of her, but Victoria ran a business and controlled her own money. Zorro probably knew nothing about running a tavern. Just to name one example at random.

Victoria paced through the tavern again. She counted the candles. She scowled at her embroidery. She sat for a long time in the kitchen.

She remembered the thunder of hoof beats in the plaza.

She thought about Francisco, and wondered where he was, how close he might be.

She wished - very much - that she could talk to Diego.

**Gilberto**

The irony was, if Gilberto were the one moping around the house Diego would be the one to call him to task for it. And he wouldn't hesitate. And he would know exactly what to say. And he wouldn't tolerate any nonsense.

It was much easier to be the difficult one.

But what, exactly, was Gilberto supposed to say? He couldn't very well apologize for Diego's illness. He _could _apologize for having all the fun - being Zorro and working the round-ups and having the 'freedom' to marry - but if he tried it, it would only make things worse. Very, very much worse. Ugh.

He could point out that sleeping late and losing the thread of conversations and avoiding town was the sort of thing that scared Father and Felipe, but Diego could hardly have failed to notice that already.

Gilberto could say the things that he had said to Thackery about swordplay being trivial. For God's sake, Diego had _real_ work to do, helping build this tiny, desperate colony into a prosperous and healthy community! The fact that he couldn't kill people gracefully with a pointy bit of metal -

It wasn't as though Diego wanted to kill people anyway!

Cicero hadn't run around waving a sword in the air. No, wait, Diego hated Cicero. Franklin, then. Franklin had changed the world without physically attacking anyone. But that was just another fact Diego already knew. Whatever it was that had Diego so desperately unhappy, mere facts were not an antidote.

_Whatever it was that had Diego so desperately unhappy_? As though Gilberto couldn't imagine! He didn't _want_ to think about how things must appear from Diego's own perspective, but ... he did know better. And somewhere deep in his heart Gilberto did imagine it.

In Diego's place, Gilberto could not have endured these two years. Gilberto - ha! - he would not have had the courage to smile at people and hide his complaints and ignore his own fears for even _five minutes_. Diego...

Gilberto had watched his brother drag around the house for over a week, and he hadn't said anything to him because there was nothing _to_ say. And, oh, that was frightening, because surely it was only Diego's own strength and will that had brought him so far. If Diego was giving up...

Oh, Diego.

When Alejandro retired for the evening, Gilberto slipped down to the cave. He didn't ride out. He didn't have the heart for it tonight. Instead, he curried Toronado, tidied up the workbench (already tidy; Diego had not touched it in two weeks), sorted and re-sorted the books on the shelf. It was past midnight before he thought he might be tired enough to sleep.

He found Diego sitting in the library, a lamp turned down low. The fire was out, and he had a blanket wrapped around him against the night's chill.

"By God, you haven't been waiting up!" Gilberto protested softly. "A bit excessive, Diego. I never left the house."

Diego shook his head. "Couldn't sleep. I didn't want to wake Felipe."

"So you're wandering around the house? Diego, you need your rest!"

Irritated, Diego looked at him then, really _looked_, and Gilberto found he couldn't meet his brother's eyes. He knew what Diego might see, if he looked too long, and it might be too much for either of them to bear.

Diego frowned, slightly puzzled. "You're not angry with me. Not really. Be reasonable."

Angry? No. But the terrible thoughts he had had downstairs were too close to the surface, and Gilberto flinched away.

Diego, watching him, became very still. "'Berto?" he coaxed.

Gilberto swallowed hard. Diego was waiting, but Gilberto couldn't lift his gaze.

Slowly, Diego stood up, shifting the blanket so that it wouldn't drop. Absently, Gilberto noticed that his feet were bare.

"What are you hiding?"

"Me? Nothing." It was an odd accusation. Diego knew all his secrets.

"You can't hide from me," coaxing again, handling him.

Gilberto snapped, "I could, actually. You wouldn't notice. You're so busy feeling sorry for yourself, I'd be surprised if you managed to notice your own nose." In his irritation, he'd looked up. Diego's eyes were shadowed, but his attention was suddenly clear and bright, and Gilberto felt his stomach twist. _Oh, Diego, please_. Certain that thought was plainly visible, Gilberto closed his eyes miserably.

A terrible silence stretched out between them.

"You're right," Diego said. "I don't now why you put up with me."

Gilberto swallowed the lump in his throat. "On you're worst days, you're by far the better man."

Diego snorted. "That is...absolute codswallop."

A single, astonished laugh burst from Gilberto's tight throat.

"True, though, big brother. You carry your burdens, and mine, too. Don't think I didn't notice."

"What? No! Diego - "

"I haven't been very gracious about it these last few days - "

"I don't _blame_ you. Diego, please - "

"You should have. I'm an utter arse when I feel sorry for myself."

Gilberto took a deep breath. "You have a point." He wanted to sound teasing or at least cheerful, but the words had all the joy of a eulogy.

"Ha. Well. We're both too busy for this foolishness. I'm sorry."

"Thank you."

"The correct response is 'you're forgiven,' not 'thank you,'" Diego corrected. He did manage a convincingly playful tone.

_Was _Diego forgiven? Diego's despair had not been malicious or even deliberate. But still...Gilberto could not let go of it. Instead, he said, "You're right about busy. We're in this together, aren't we? I'm not nearly so good with explosives. Or strategy. Or keeping my temper. I need you. Diego..."

Diego leaned closer. "I'm sorry," he repeated. He stepped back and adjusted the blanket. "Anyway. Speaking of explosives. It's after midnight."

"What? Oh." Their birthday. "Happy twenty-six, then."

"I made you fireworks."

Gilberto blinked, trying to catch up. "What for?"

"A diversion. Not the usual kind, I admit. But, after all, a diversion needs to be _surprising_."

"Thank you. But not what I want." _Another year_. It wasn't fair to ask, but that wouldn't stop him. He would ask and ask, forever if he could. He dreaded the day that would come and he couldn't anymore.

Diego didn't protest this time. He only nodded seriously. "I promise," he said.

**December 16, 1814**

**Diego**

As much work as Felipe and Nicolas did for the newspaper, they didn't always see the content of the articles until they set the type. This time, Diego wasn't even going to let them see it then. If things turned particularly ugly, he didn't want the children involved.

It was Friday, and normally the newspaper office would be closed. Diego sent Felipe out with old Juan and some of the men to track a mountain lion that was harassing the herd. Then he went into town alone, locked himself in the newspaper office, and laid out a single page.

Working alone, it took him most of the day. He only intended one man to see the finished proof, but he was meticulous anyway. It would not have the desired impact if it were misspelled.

The page was finished by late afternoon. Diego locked up and went for a walk. Town was quiet. A couple of old men were playing cards on the tavern porch. Mendoza was supervising several of the lancers who were policing cuartel. One of the walls was up on the new house...

Diego ate an early and leisurely supper at the tavern. When he judged it was late enough, he returned to the newspaper office, ran one copy of the plate, and took it to the alcalde's office.

It would have been very inconvenient if he hadn't been there, but he had timed this carefully. Zorro had been watching his movements for two years. Whenever the alcalde spent a few days at his estate outside of town, he always followed with a few days of longer hours in his office. Diego hated to think what horrors he might be working on, but whatever one might say about Luis Ramone, he was not lazy.

Diego gave a friendly wave to the guard on duty by the cuartel gate and knocked at the office door.

"Don Diego. How very pleasant to see you." His words were respectful and polite, but his tone and eyes showed only boredom and mild dislike.

"A moment of your time, Alcalde?"

The smile was hardly convincing. "Certainly."

Diego handed him the proof sheet. The alcalde's brows lifted in a pantomime of interest. "How unusual. The paper doesn't come out until Wednesday. My, how very...diligent you are."

"More diligent then you'd prefer, I think. You'd better read it."

Sighing, the alcalde set aside the letter he was writing and repositioned the lamp and read. Diego held still for the long seconds of silence. The alcalde flinched once, slightly, but other than that he was completely still until he reached the end of the page.

When he looked up he was calm. "Can you prove any of this?"

"I can concretely prove most of it. The rest...the evidence is compelling, but not conclusive."

"How very inconvenient." Ramone tilted his head slightly, making a show of considering his next words. "I could have you jailed."

"My evidence would be out of its hiding place and on a fast horse to the capital before you finished turning the key."

A smile. "I could have you killed."

Diego folded his arms and leaned back against the wall. "I understand that Zorro is a great admirer of the Fourth Estate. I don't believe he'd approve."

The alcalde grunted softly. "So," he said.

Diego waited.

"I see the publication date is for this coming Wednesday. I can't imagine why you might be showing me this..." his eyes narrowed, "unless you were, perhaps, willing to compromise your journalistic integrity?"

Diego almost laughed at that. "Got it on the first guess," he said.

The thin overlay of civilization vanished from the alcalde's face. He thought he understood the game, now. "How much?" he barked.

Diego shook his head. He pointed at the paper laid out on the desk. "_That_ would sell a great deal of newspapers and certainly cement my reputation. But I want an aqueduct more than my _journalistic integrity_."

"You want a _what_?"

"If I publish that, word will reach the governor, and he will _probably_ send down the magistrate and an inspector and an accountant and in a few weeks they will _probably_ confirm all my evidence and find some more of their own and you will _probably_ be put to trial where you will _probably_ be found guilty...months from now and with any luck at all you will rot in prison for twenty years for misappropriation of public funds."

"How nicely put," the alcalde said, trying not to look like he'd swallowed a lemon.

"But the money would still be gone, the work on the aqueduct would stop, and the existing foundation would still be defective. Los Angeles needs to expand the water supply much more than it needs to see you ruined."

The alcalde looked down at the damning article again. "You must have been working on this for months." A surrender.

"Since the first edition came out, actually. Did I miss very much?" A statement of victory.

"What exactly do you want?"

As though it weren't obvious: "Fix it. Rip out shoddy wooden footings and replace them with stone. And the project is a month behind schedule: catch up. And it goes without saying that there will be no more short cuts."

"The expense - "

"Is surely worth your career and freedom. And I want the work to start first thing tomorrow morning. I'll inspect the progress myself. And again on Monday. And again on Tuesday. Or this is the page one lead on Wednesday."

The alcalde stayed very still for most of a minute. The only thing about him that moved was the muscle in his jaw. "Your collection of evidence - ?"

"Receipts, statements from your contractors, sketches of the improper footings, a copy of the tax total from the special irrigation levy, everything - it's all yours as soon as the aqueduct is completed and functional. I give you my word."

They shook on the bargain. Diego left the proof sheet behind. He did not return to the office to clear the plate. Now, when the alcalde was angry and nervous, he might be tempted to do something foolish and enthusiastic. The best thing to do was get out of town.

At the second turn in the road a clatter of hoof beats came behind him. The faster horse quickly caught up to lazy Esperanza and slowed so quickly that gravel spat out from the hooves.

"Show off," Diego said mildly.

"Clear behind you. In case you were worried."

"Why would I be worried? You were watching the road the whole time."

Zorro snorted a laugh. "_I_ was worried. He might have had you shot just for spite." He nudged Toronado a bit closer. "Did he agree to it?"

"Oh, yes. He really had no choice."

"Shame. I would almost rather see him in prison."

"_If _he were to be convicted, yes. But he is good at slithering out of the noose. And what a mess there would have been, if word of this got out. He must seriously underestimate how angry townspeople would be! He'd be lucky not to be lynched and there would certainly be another riot."

"Yes, fine. We are doing it _your_ way. You can stop trying to convince me."

"I need to ask a favor. Someone needs to inspect the construction site tomorrow morning, but I should take Felipe into town and clear that plate."

"Are you going to tell him what's going on?"

"I have to, don't I? Now that the alcalde knows, it would be dangerous to keep him in the dark. Nicholas, too. He shouldn't leave the mission alone, not for a while. Ugh. We'll have to tell Father now, I suppose."

"He left for Santa Paula this afternoon."

"That's next week."

"No, he wanted to do some banking. Something came up with the new house and...well...there are supplies to order in Santa Barbara..."

Diego winced. "I hate to think how much this is costing him."

"_Don't_ be an idiot. I mean it. If you have reason to feel badly about it, so do I." Because the house in town would do as much for Zorro as it would for Diego. "Anyway, you must realize that Father expected this - or something like it. He couldn't think we would both live at home forever, and if one or both of us had moved out...well the issue wouldbe to _where_. He would have offered whoever married first a house close by."

A point. Father would never have pressured them to remain close to home, but he would certainly have planned to make the option attractive. This house wasn't even early, really. The twins were old enough to marry, after all.

Not that that was a thought Diego wanted to dwell on.

They had reached the point where Zorro would normally turn off the road and circle around to the ravine, but Toronado only dropped back a little and shadowed Esperanza until they had practically reached the front gate.

**Gilberto **

Although the previous night had been busy, it hadn't been particularly late, and Gilberto had gotten a good night's sleep. It was a luxury he didn't take for granted.

He sent Diego and Felipe into town with Tomas and Pepe to look after them. Not that either one of them was worth anything as a bodyguard, but they were a reminder (if one were needed) that Diego de le Vega was too prominent to be dealt with 'expeditiously.' Diego and Felipe would clear the plate and then the four of them would ride out to the Neilson place to see how the family was doing.

Not very long ago Gilberto would have worried - just a little - about Diego's ability to endure so much activity in a day, but in the weeks since his fight with Thackery Diego had grown noticeably stronger. After the worst of his melancholy had passed it was impossible to overlook the impact of the water treatment.

The spells came on him with the same frequency, but now they were quickly halted with a basin full of water. Gilberto hadn't realized how much of the weakness had been simple exhaustion from lost sleep... or how often Diego had had to rush to make up for long interruptions in his work...or how much the fear of a bad spell limited his activities. And now that long, merciless attacks weren't straining is heart further even the 'good' days were much better.

He still could not walk uphill for more than a few minutes without puffing and panting like an old man. And there were still times when he stood too quickly and had to grab for the arm of a chair. But there was no question that he was much, much better.

Since their birthday Diego had been putting the renewed health to use. He had moved forward with the evidence he had been slowly collecting on the alcalde's misuse of the irrigation fund. Personally, Gilberto would have preferred to wait until they had an ironclad case for fraud and used it to get rid of the man entirely, but he could admit that was mainly selfishness talking. Diego's plan was excellent. It was also daring and aggressive and not something he would have considered even a month or two before.

And besides all of that, there were three rather complicated experiments going on down in the cave, and he was testing out a new set of whistle signals on Viking and Esperanza and Sunshine in preparation for teaching them to Toronado. Diego was making and excellent showing of being involved in his own life. The resentment and frustration and sadness that were left - and there were some left, Gilberto was quite sure - were well buried and resolutely ignored. In time, Diego would begin to forget them again.

In light of all this, Gilberto was in a sunny mood, and had been for days. Singing aloud, he rode out to the first section of the irrigation line. He watched the workmen ripping out the existing footings with a vague smile on his face. When the alcalde politely implied that Gilberto was little better than Diego's stooge, he freely admitted that Diego was smarter and more inventive (and wasn't it better, after all, to be thought less dangerous than the invalid?)

Satisfied that Ramone was meeting the terms of the bargain, Gilberto rode north and east, circling around to check on some of the herd. With Father gone, he had been left in charge. He couldn't play up his inferiority _too_ much. The men would lose faith.

Everything was well in hand, of course. Old Juan was an excellent foreman. _Still_, praise God! Gilberto didn't know what he was going to do when he had to be retired. Even today, when he was trying to look dedicated to the ranch, he was heading home in time for siesta and he intended to sleep. That wouldn't be possible without a reliable foreman, and it was necessary, because Gilberto expected to get no sleep tonight.

The alcalde appeared to have submitted meekly to Diego's terms. And maybe he had...but Gilberto would spend the evening watching him and searching his office and private rooms anyway.

When he came in from the barn, though, Maria met him at the door. She looked distinctly unhappy. "You have a guest," she said, nodding in the direction of the parlor.

"Oh?" He took off his hat and ran a hand through his limp hair, hoping his plans for a nap weren't fading away. "One of the neighbors?"

"No. A stranger. A peasant woman, from Mexico."

That was unexpected. "What does she want?"

"She won't say." That might explain Maria's frown, but to Gilberto it was more curious than irritating: Peasant women didn't normally visit at the front doors of nicer houses, and certainly not alone. What could she want? "She's asking for Don Diego." Oh. Well. _That_ would explain Maria's irritation right there. Maria had been there for the twins' whole lives, and she practically doted on Diego. She wouldn't want him bothered by this stranger, just on principal.

"I'll take care of it." It was likely Maria had snubbed the woman. "Would you bring us some lemonade?"

"Certainly," she said, with no trace of reluctance.

Gilberto went to greet their guest. He was right; Maria had only put out water for her, just enough to satisfy the minimum of hospitality.

The woman herself was...not young, plainly dressed, her brown hair modestly knotted. She might well be a peasant, but not a _poor_ one; her clothing was in fairly good repair. She looked the earnest sort, hardly the type to be wasting Diego's time. Hardly the type to go calling on strangers alone. At the sight of him, she took a nervous step back and twisted a handkerchief in her hands. "Senor de le Vega?" she asked quietly.

He shrugged one shoulder. "Gilberto, not Diego, but yes. And the only one home, so you'll have to make do with me." He smiled nicely and hoped the business - whatever it was - could be taken care of fairly quickly.

"Ah. I hope, perhaps, that you can help me. I am Senora Delanoso. I've...I've come a long way..."

Gilberto tamped down a sigh and prompted, "From Mexico..."

She nodded. "From Guadalajara, originally. I'm looking for my son, Jose."

Gilberto blinked at that. "We have a vaquero named Jose, but he is from Sonora, I think."

Slowly, sadly, she shook her head. "He would be too young to be a vaquero. He would be about fifteen." She swallowed. Her hands shook. "He has brown eyes and brown hair. You might not know his name was Jose...from the stories I have heard...he was badly injured."

Numbly, certain he could not be hearing correctly, Gilberto repeated, "Fifteen?"

_~TBC_


	16. Dec 17, 1814 Continued

_The cool thing about Zorro fanfiction is that you don't have to limit the story to what you can present in 24 minutes! Golly, and if ever there was a story that needed more time..._

**Dec 17, 1814 Continued**

**Diego **

The work at the newspaper office was quickly completed and with the December weather so mild that the trip north to the Neilson farm was very pleasant.

Felipe and Pepe had brought their fishing lines, and Anton gleefully allowed himself to be pulled up behind Felipe on Sunshine so he could ride with them back to the creek. Daniil took Diego and Tomas out to the kitchen garden. Diego recognized beets and squash and carrots and cabbage. The garden looked perfectly normal and coming along nicely. "It is the...the _oshipka_ I want to ask you about."

Diego frowned. "I don't..."

Daniil lifted a beetle off a cabbage plant. "Good or bad?" he asked.

"Oh, the insects. Bad. Pick those off."

He searched for a moment and produced a ladybug. "Good, yes? We have them at home."

Diego nodded.

"And the long one," Daniil held his fingers a couple of inches apart. "Green, with sharp feet and a head so," he drew a triangle in the air.

"Preying mantis. Very good. They eat other bugs."

"Do they bite? A...a sting?"

"No. They are harmless." Gilberto used to pick them up and carry them around, but Diego had never liked the prickle of their sharp feet.

Daniil grinned. "Again the de le Vegas save us."

"Hardly. Compared to what you have done for me...I can't thank Oksana Federovna enough."

Daniil looked a bit embarrassed. "Are you...feeling well?"

"You cannot imagine," Diego said.

The gifts Diego had brought had been a bit extravagant, though he pretended otherwise: two jars of honey, a bolt of cotton cloth, a ham, and five skeins of yarn from the wool of Don Alejandro's ugly sheep. It was very fine, soft yarn, and as he handed them over to Oksansa Federovna Diego said, "Father would like to see what you make of this - it is a new strain of stock, and he's comparing the quality."

She fingered the soft fibers and fixed Diego with a stern look. "The _quality_ is too good. I can't accept this."

"Testing it for us is doing us a favor. You've increased the range of our wool expertise by an entire continent." He smiled sweetly and didn't accept her polite refusals.

Lunch was very simple: bread and cheese and pickled mushrooms. The bread was excellent, but the cheese was strangely sour and the pickled mushrooms were simply strange. Diego ate with careful enthusiasm; food was serious business on a new farm. You couldn't take it for granted. It would be a dreadful insult to refuse their hospitality for any reason, but it made him wince to think of using their limited supplies.

Diego kept the visit short. The crops were in, but Daniil was still busy repairing the roof on the barn. Even if Daniil would have accepted the offer of help, Diego did not trust himself on a roof, so he ended the disruption as quickly as was polite.

On the way back to the main road, Diego and Tomas collected the boys. Anton went home with four fat catfish, and Pepe had a broken line and a story about a huge trout that got away. When he wasn't looking, Felipe grinned, shook his head, and spelled out 'carp.'

"I hope you don't mind, Don Diego, that we didn't keep the fish," Pepe said earnestly. "But I think it's too hot to carry them so far."

"I agree. It is as well you left them all with Anton." Uncharitably, he wondered if the Russians would pickle them...

Alonzo met them in the barn, taking Esperanza's reins when Diego reached to unsaddle the mare himself. "Don Gilberto is waiting for you and Felipe in the house. There is a guest."

"Oh." Diego paused to straighten his jacket. After spending most of the day in the saddle he wasn't as nice for company as he'd have liked. "Who is it?"

Alonzo shrugged. "I don't know, Patron. A woman."

Oooh. Yes. Diego could well imagine that Gilberto would like to be rescued as quickly as possible...

The woman waiting in the parlor, however, was not a local senorita looking beautiful and making a pest of herself. And it was not one of the tenants. And it was not the wife of a neighbor. "Good afternoon," Diego said.

Very slowly, Gilberto rose from his chair and turned to face the door. He looked pale and very tense, and Diego felt himself straighten alertly in response. "Ah," Gilberto said. "This is my brother Diego and - and Felipe. I think it would be best if you both came in and sat down."

"Is anything wrong," Diego asked, smiling politely and coming to take a seat on the settee. He motioned Felipe down beside him.

Gilberto moved to stand beside the woman's chair. One hand closed on the back of it and his grip was so hard that his knuckles immediately went white. "Diego, this is Senora Delanoso. She is Felipe's mother."

Diego felt no surprise. Very early on, his grief for a child who had absolutely no one to claim him had transformed into a dread that someone would. Two or three times a day the worry would come to mind, that some day Felipe's true family could appear and take him away. It was selfish and unworthy, thinking such a thing. And the months had gone by and no one had every come looking and Diego had managed to put the idea out of his mind -

It seemed the years and the forgetting had made no difference. He must have expected this, somehow, buried deep inside. He felt no surprise, just a pain blossoming up through his soul.

Felipe leapt to his feet and stormed at the woman, his hands flying. Diego caught, "You are not my mother. My mother is dead," before he lost sight of the words. Belatedly, Diego reached out to catch him, but his fingers just brushed the back of Felipe's sash. Diego rose - and then plopped backward as a wave of dizziness slammed against him so hard that the edges of the room turned grey.

Gilberto was moving, though. He swooped forward and gathered Felipe into his arms. "Stop," he murmured. "Stop. Felipe. I'm so sorry. Stop." He pulled him aside and pushed him down into a chair. Felipe didn't resist, but he didn't let go of Gilberto's arm, either, so Gilberto's long form was left crouching beside the chair.

The woman - Senora Delanoso - Felipe's mother - had frozen in her place, a handkerchief knotted in her hands, her eyes wide, fixed on Felipe's face -

Brown eyes, so like Felipe's. The jaw, yes and the color of her hair, so similar! For a moment, looking at her, Diego could not breathe.

She said, solemnly, "I had heard that he was deaf."

Gilberto closed his eyes and gently prized his arm free. "No," Diego said. "His hearing has mostly recovered. But he cannot speak. He was hurt... Other than that, he has been very healthy...quite intelligent, really, and as diligent and loyal as anyone could ask..."

Felipe turned and slapped Diego sharply in the shoulder and signed broadly, "This cannot be my mother. My parents are dead."

Gilberto shook his head. "He doesn't understand. He knows how we found him...that there was no one..."

The woman's eyes filled. "Oh, Jose. I am _so_ sorry. The cart fell on me and I..." she dabbed at her eyes. "It was two days before anyone found me, and after that I was delirious. I thought you were dead along with your father, and I mourned you until..."

Overcome, she dropped her gaze into her lap.

Diego said, "We asked in every nearby town, looking for his people..." His voice shook. He swallowed and clinched his teeth together.

"We'd already traveled more then fifty miles, fleeing the fighting. Our home had been destroyed. No one knew us. Afterwards...I have family in Mexico City, and I had no where else to go. It was only six months ago I heard from an old acquaintance...the story of the little boy that was taken away with the Californios. Somehow I knew it was my Jose. I came as quickly as I could raise the money for the journey."

Diego dragged his gaze to Felipe. The poor boy looked positively ill. Very carefully, Diego stood up and crossed to him. He leaned on the chair so he could squat down across from Gilberto. "Felipe," he said as evenly as he could. "This is a miracle. If I could have my mother, my own _mother_...I know this is overwhelming, but I can guess what this means for you...or, or for her..." Diego's throat clinched and he tried to swallow. He managed on the third attempt.

Felipe didn't notice his weakness. He was staring at the woman with glittering eyes. "Mother," he signed. Tentatively, he reached out a hand for her.

Diego shut his eyes.

It seemed like a very long time later - but perhaps it wasn't - that Gilberto said, "This has been a very...I think we could all use a chance to - and we haven't even shown Senora Delanoso to her room. Felipe, perhaps you would like to - ?"

Awkwardly, Felipe signed, "The room with the horse painting?" Careful Felipe; it was the guest room furthest from Gilberto's, in case Zorro needed to get in and out.

When they were gone Gilberto rose and held out his hand. Numbly, Diego took it and allowed himself to be dragged to his feet. Gilberto had to brace his arm for a moment to keep him from falling.

"I wish Father were here," Gilberto muttered.

"He could not save us," Diego responded. "Save us. Ha. From that poor woman. Dear God, that poor woman - "

Gilberto shook him. Hard. "Don't you dare. He is only alive because you saved him."

_He_. Because 'Felipe' was wrong, now, and 'Jose' was impossible.

"Think how she's suffered."

"And her suffering would have been unending if you hadn't - Never mind. Don't think just now."

It was a long walk to the bedroom. Gilberto kept an arm around him and Diego didn't bother to pretend that he didn't need it. When he was safely lying down, Gilberto checked his pulse and frowned thoughtfully.

Diego dug the next dose out of his pocket. To his surprise, Gilberto took his head. "You're all right. Well, good enough." He scrubbed a hand across his face. "Where does Felipe - where does he keep that tea?"

"I don't want any," Diego murmured.

"It's that or laudanum."

"You just said I was fine."

"I have to do something!"

Diego closed his eyes. "Box on the bookshelf. But you'll need to go the kitchen for hot water."

"Obviously," Gilberto snapped, snatching up the box and stalking out.

Gilberto's step was always either silent or firm, but the next person to come in was tentative. Diego turned onto his side and opened his eyes. Felipe hovered at the foot of the bed. Diego held out his hand.

Too slowly, Felipe came to sit beside him. His eyes were wide and damp and wretchedly miserable. Diego felt his own eyes fill. "I'm so sorry," he said. "I didn't look hard enough. I'm so, so sorry - "

Felipe flinched, jerking his hands free. He shook his head and gulped. "No," he said. "No, no, no. _My_ fault!"

"What?" Diego shoved up so he was sitting. "No - "

"You heard her! She was stuck. And you didn't find me by a woman. I must have walked away. I must have left. If I had stayed - "

"Oh, the pair of you are just too much," Gilberto growled from the doorway. He set the cup of tea on the bedside table and put his hands on his hips. "You were a tiny child, you were injured, and no one could communicate with you. On a battlefield! It is only by the grace of God you weren't trampled by a horse or ripped apart by stray dogs or run through on some bayonet. If you had not been found - " he glared at Diego "Or perhaps you are thinking we should have left him in Guadalajara? With the ruined towns and the fouled drinking water and the peasants stacking bodies like cordwood?"

Diego dared a glance at Felipe. He looked uncertain, but no happier.

"Well. I was there, too. And it was me that convinced Juan and the tutor to go along with it. And I will not apologize for what we did. I will not." He slammed the door as he left.

Felipe took out a handkerchief and neatly wiped his eyes.

"I hate it when he's right," Diego whispered. "But there has just been so much pain. Surely someone should apologize for it..."

Felipe sighed. "My mother."

"Yes," Diego nodded. "Your mother. This is a good day. An amazing day. We should be very happy. We should be planning the party."

Felipe was very still for a minute. "I don't know her."

"Ah." Carefully, Diego scooted back against the headboard and picked up the teacup. "But you did once. And she knew you. And she loves you very much. She came such a long way...and what if she'd been wrong, and it hadn't been you? She didn't even know..."

"I don't remember being Jose."

"I don't think the person you are changes. A name is only a label, not the essence. The English have a saying about that."

Felipe glanced away and shrugged: he hadn't been convinced but he wasn't going to argue.

"You are still brave and intelligent and diligent and kind. I still..." could he say it without breaking down? Yes. He must. Felipe had to hear it. "I still love you. With all my heart, I love you." Like my own child, he was supposed to say, but it would be nonsense. Felipe was his child. Or had been. Diego felt his stomach twist and he hastily put down the tea.

"I love you, too," Felipe said.

Diego nodded. It was a long time before he could speak. "I will need to come to supper in a couple of hours. I think perhaps I'd better rest."

"Do you want me to stay?"

Diego shook his head. "Go down and look after the horse. I'm sure you won't get a chance after supper." It would do him good, having some private time in the cave. It was usually where he wanted to be when he needed to think.

Diego managed to keep back the tears until he'd heard the door shut.

**Felipe **

When Maria found out who their guest was she outdid herself on supper. It was a little astonishing how much she could accomplish in just a few hours. She served - actually, Felipe could never remember the taste of that meal afterwards, but he did remember thinking at the time that Maria had been extraordinarily kind.

Gilberto and Diego were also very kind at dinner. Diego and been gracious and Gilberto had been charming and Felipe had been filled with gratitude...although later he couldn't remember their conversation any more than he could remember the meal.

What he remembered was his mother, serene and modest. She had been quiet at first, but the twins asked the questions that Felipe couldn't, and slowly they drew out the story of her life in Mexico City.

She lived with her aunt and her family in a spacious apartment above her uncle's tailor shop. The shop had large windows on the south side and it was a very pleasant place to work. Mother was a seamstress...

The city was crowded, of course, and it could be humid, but it was a very exciting place for young people. Of course Mother, herself, didn't go into the streets often, but she had two male cousins a bit older than Felipe. They enjoyed city life; holidays were very grand, markets sold anything you could imagine, circuses came through quite frequently, and so on and so on. No doubt Felipe would love living there.

Amazingly, it was only then that he realized it, that of course his mother had come to take him back to live with her family. He hadn't thought of it. He hadn't been thinking at all.

He had been surprised. And scared. And heartbroken for the grief both of them had endured. He had been thinking only of the past. The future -

The future must lie in Mexico City.

He glanced at Diego, who was eating mechanically and asking polite questions. With a sinking heart he realized that Diego must have already seen this. Of course he had. Felipe would have to leave home. It wouldn't be allowed to _be_ his home anymore, not now.

He didn't remember much of the rest of supper at all.

**Gilberto**

Sunday morning mass was an ordeal.

On the best of days he didn't enjoy it. Gilberto knew he wasn't a particularly bad soul, but he was a persistent sinner and a borderline heretic. After the first two decades of praying for improvement he had mostly given up wishing the Heavenly Father had made him differently. And that was before God had stricken Diego with a terrifying and humiliating malady. That tragedy had reduced Gilberto to begging again. Begging and promising to do better...

And for a very long time it had seemed there was no help coming. Diego had survived, but as far as Gilberto could tell, it was on his own strength and stubbornness. Diego had fought for his life alone. The miracle that had finally come - and Gilberto was fully ready to admit to a miracle - had been in the form of Father Benitez. God had hardly put himself out for that, though. All the work had been done by the priest's own intelligence and learning - and by Gilberto's own efforts to rescue the man from his kidnapper.

God had set this illness on Diego and barely lifted a finger to help him, and if Gilberto thought about it too long the only possible conclusion was that God was an idiot: Diego was a prize, a true blessing to everyone around him, and anyone with any sense would adore and treasure him. If the Lord did not, well, there must be something wrong with Him.

So Gilberto tried not to think about it. It was a practice that could not succeed today, not with Senora Delanoso kneeling in the de le Vega pew, right there on the other side of Felipe.

Gilberto hated the woman and wished she was dead. He knew perfectly well that was sinful, but the thought stubbornly remained, and God's wrath over the crime was not even the most distressing aspect of it. The poor woman was innocent of any wrongdoing, yes, and it was unjust to wish _her_ ill...but - worse - it was also in injustice to Felipe. After all the boy had done to care for Diego, after all he had risked to make Zorro's schemes succeed, after all the loyalty and courage he'd shown, surely Gilberto owed him better than this. Surely, somehow he could find it in his heart to rejoice in his mother's return. Surely.

But no, he couldn't. And he didn't even force himself to regret the failure very much. In fact, kneeling here while the deacon prayed on, Gilberto's mind kept straying to the idea that God had done them all a very bad turn: Felipe's injury, Senora Delanoso's decade of grief for her son, all the effort Diego had put to mending Felipe's wounds and teaching him to communicate...and now it was all to be for nothing. Heartbreak for everyone, surely, and nothing good to come out of it. Felipe - he didn't know how to be a tailor! And his education wasn't finished. And he didn't belong in a big, crowded, dirty city. And what, in Mexico City, could possibly challenge or interest the boy after he had conspired with Zorro? What?

Never mind that Mexico was still angling for independence. That mess could so easily become brutal. Again. Gilberto wouldn't even willingly visit there himself, let alone go to stay.

All of that was bad, but it was probably not the worst of it. Diego would take this hard. All the love Diego had to give natural children had gone to his foundling instead, and Felipe had proved himself worthy of every sacrifice and effort Diego had made. Except _now,_ of course, it turned out it was all a mistake. An error. A tragedy of war. Perhaps God had done it all to mock them.

That thought, naturally, was heresy and blasphemy both. His next confession was going to be a joy.

The service ended eventually.

Outside, Gilberto nearly bumped into an army lieutenant who appeared suddenly in his way. Gilberto opened his mouth to say something impatient and nearly tripped with astonishment. "Francisco!" he gasped.

Francisco - and it was him, though Gilberto could scarcely believe it - clouted him over the shoulder and laughed. "Surprised to see me?"

"Completely! The last I'd heard, you'd run away and joined the army."

"Well, 'joined' is perhaps not the best world, but I must say it's working out very well for me. But seriously, you hadn't heard I was here? Victoria was telling everyone."

"Things have been...complex at home for the past couple of days."

Francisco glanced over his shoulder toward where Diego was having a word with Father Benitez. Before he could start asking questions, Gilberto said quickly, "How long are you staying?"

Francisco grinned. "Maybe a long time. I'm trying to get reassigned here."

"What, our little garrison? But you're a lieutenant!"

Francisco smiled. "And yet...it might be possible. Los Angeles is a chartered town. And famous, now, with everyone talking about your Zorro."

Gilberto blinked, surprised though he shouldn't be. Zorro wasn't some sort of secret, after all. "Well, perhaps our little pueblo is important enough. The garrison is always very...busy," he agreed blandly. "Victoria would be delighted to have you here." He was on safer ground there.

"So! You must tell me everything! What have I missed?"

**Diego**

Victoria threw a party to celebrate Francisco's visit. On Sunday, of course, it couldn't be very lavish or large, but she'd had a couple of girls making tamales all yesterday afternoon. In lieu of dancing, the entertainment was Francisco telling stories about the army and Mexico City. Some of his stories actually counted as news, and Diego dutifully noted them down for the paper. He only got a few words with Francisco, and they were a bit awkward. Perhaps on another day Diego could have found a way to breach the gap between them, but he hadn't seen either of the Escalante boys since he'd left for Madrid, and that was before that terrible business with their parents.

Francisco was uncomfortable, too. No doubt he'd heard that Diego was frail. It was all very awkward. Diego was relieved when they could politely go home. He had the newspaper to work on, after all.

The deadline came each week relentlessly, though today Diego had a hard time keeping his mind on his work. When they returned to the house, Felipe had taken his mother for a walk out in the garden, and Diego's eyes kept straying to the window, though he couldn't see the pair. By suppertime he only had about one-third of the paper done, and really, by Sunday evening, it should be half.

Supper was not quite as much of a trial as the previous one, although Diego still found it hard to smile and think of things to say. And it was terribly hard to nod and say nothing when Senora Delonoso talked earnestly of the exciting life to be found in the city. He was doing very well - or at least mostly well - until she mentioned that the next southbound coach was scheduled to leave Los Angeles on Wednesday morning.

Felipe shook his head frantically, protesting that Wednesday was the day they printed the paper, and it was simply impossible to leave then, not on such short notice.

"I'm sorry," she said, drawing back a little at his vehemence. "I don't understand. What's wrong? "

Diego felt frozen. He was not sure he could speak coherently at that moment to save his life, but Gilberto calmly explained about the newspaper.

Her lashes fluttered. "Surely, it isn't so important?"

Gilberto only smiled charmingly. "Felipe's work in the paper has been invaluable. It is a worthy project, and an opportunity few boys his age ever have. I can see why he doesn't want to abandon his responsibilities so suddenly."

"But...if we miss this coach...I haven't even checked the schedule, but surely the next coach won't come through for over a week..."

"The journey will take weeks anyway," Gilberto pointed out. "There's no reason to rush."

"We've imposed enough on your hospitality."

Gilberto smiled, but there was no softness in it. "You're hardly imposing. Felipe has been a great help to us these last few years. And the newspaper, well," he shrugged.

Senora Delanoso glanced at Felipe. "I suppose. If it's that important..."

So that was settled, at least. A reprieve, if only a short one. Diego could not quite put aside his panic. The rest of his supper was untouched, but fortunately no one noticed.

When they were finally finished at the table, Gilberto suggested some time at the piano: a brilliant idea. Music was a soothing distraction, and it saved Diego from having to look this woman in the eyes and manufacture conversation. He did know the coach schedule, and he knew exactly how long he had until Felipe was gone.

_~tbc_


	17. Dec 19, 1814

_**Okay, I've posted 3 times in the last 5 days, but this is it till after the holiday. Sorry. I'm going out of town. Happy Thanksgiving, everybody. **_

_**All usual fanfic disclaimers apply, along with my gratitude. **_

**Dec 19, 1814**

**Gilberto**

On Monday morning Diego rode out early to check on the progress sorting out the aqueduct. Felipe went with him. When Maria announced she had some errands in town, this was an excellent opportunity Gilberto couldn't ignore. He loaded Maria and Senora Delanoso into the wagon and drove them to Los Angeles.

He bought them lemonade at Victoria's. Senora Delanoso was uncomfortable going into a tavern, even here on the frontier, where the proprietor was a respectable woman and there was no stigma attached to visiting during the day, so they sat on the porch and admired the lovely December weather.

Gilberto - determined not to rush things and ruin his plans - asked after Francisco. Victoria rolled her eyes. "He is out looking for Zorro!"

"Good heavens, why?" and then, "Surely our bandit isn't drawing tourists!"

She leaned down, lowering her voice. "He has made a deal with the alcalde. If he brings in Zorro, the alcalde will accept his transfer!"

The thought of poor Francisco scouring the country side while Zorro sat here on his own porch drinking his sister's lemonade nearly made Gilberto laugh aloud. "You must be quite torn, then. Over whether you want him succeed."

"What do you take me for?" she growled. "Do you think I would see an innocent man hang, even to have my family back? You are as stupid as he is." She was red with rage and Gilberto winced. This would get back to Diego, of course, and his brother would never believe that he hadn't been needling Victoria on purpose. It truly was an accident...

He raised his hands in surrender and Victoria stormed off. Maria, amused by the little quarrel (it was nothing new) quickly finished her drink and hurried off to the dry goods store. Alone at last with Senora Delanoso, Gilberto sat back in his chair and remarked, "It is a charming little pueblo. Growing, too."

She nodded demurely but said nothing.

Gilberto decided to take another tack. "Felipe will be badly missed. And he's been more of a help to my brother than words can describe."

She nodded willingly. "He's a good boy."

"We'd go to great lengths not to manage without him."

She looked up, genuinely uncertain and surprised rather than simply meek.

"Do you see that spot there? In front of the grain warehouse? The man who owns it...he'd sell. We would build you your own tailor shop, with a little apartment upstairs. Very comfortable."

Now she looked openly shocked.

"It's a good town, the colony is sustainable, even growing. Oh, I admit, it has a long way to go, but think of the opportunity. We could use another tailor. There's money to be made here, a business you could build. And you would run it yourself, not be answerable to that aunt and her husband. Oh, I'm sure they are lovely people, but this would be your own."

She considered, her eyes narrowing, her expression suddenly speculative. After a long moment, she shook her head. "Beholden to you, not to them, but still not independent. And still too isolated, here on the frontier."

Gilberto leaned forward. "What do you want?"

For a moment she seemed to consider it, her eyes sharp and her mouth hard. Then she sighed and shook her head, once again solemn and earnest and meek, "I'm sorry, Senor. We are not for sale."

Gilberto pushed aside a stab of irritation. Buy them? It was not an offense if the price was fair and respectful. The opportunity he had offered surely was better than life as a poor in-law. And until this business with 'independence' was sorted out, it was safer to be well out of Mexico. Besides, the senora was not so very old. If she wanted to marry again, the proportion of unmarried men to potential brides was better out here in the young colony.

But he was not willing to give up just yet. "Felipe has many friends here, and many people to whom he can speak."

She nodded seriously. "Yes, and that will be difficult. But with his family, I know he will be taken care of."

Gilberto opened his mouth to counter that, but then he let it close again. He had glimpsed something in her, something calculating and careful, but it was gone now, and she had clearly made up her mind. There would be no swaying her, he was sure.

He managed not to clinch his teeth, but only rose smoothly. "If you'll excuse me, I'll leave you here in the shade or a few moments while I go check on the construction site. I'll only be a few minutes." He smiled blandly and turned away.

**Wednesday**

**Felipe**

It was almost as though he were standing at the top of a tall cliff. Behind him was the stable ground he knew well, ahead of him a long drop...

'Mother' and 'family' and 'home' were supposed to be to be safe, comforting words. How could they have become so strange and frightening? His mother still felt like a stranger. Her family was a mystery and home - home was_ here_.

He felt slightly bad about his doubts. Diego had said this was a wonderful miracle and obviously he was right. Felipe should be feeling joy and gratitude, not nervousness.

He had thought working on the paper would be a comforting return to normalcy, but Tuesday was pretty much a disaster. Everyone was clumsy and out of sorts. Even Nicholas was making mistakes. Diego clearly had a headache, though he would not admit it. They had had to work so late that they'd spend the night at the tavern and this morning things hadn't been any better. The ink just wouldn't roll right, and every fifth or sixth sheet had ink blots on it. Diego fussed with the problem for over an hour with little improvement. It was after nine before Felipe and Nicholas got out to distribute the papers.

That, at least, was some better. It was a pleasant, cool day. A lot of farmers were in with vegetables to sell, and there was salted fish from San Pedro and cloth from the mission.

Felipe delivered a dozen copies to the dry goods store and settled in front of the tavern to sell the rest. He could see his mother wandering among the booths. She was reserved and graceful and truly, amazingly lovely. His mother. He wanted desperately to love her. How could he feel she was a stranger? How could his heart not _know_? Even if his mind had forgotten...

Lieutenant Escalante appeared, interrupting Felipe's unhappy thoughts. "Victoria sent me out," he said. "She said she has paid for the month." Felipe nodded and counted out ten papers for him. Frowning, he took them. "I do swear you look familiar. I just can't remember why..."

Gilberto, coming up behind Escalante, laughed. "Well you have known him since he was knee-high to a gopher. I should hope he looks familiar."

Escalante sighed and shook his head, but before he could say anything else about it Gilberto asked, "How is the hunt for Zorro coming?"

"Ugh! Not a track, not a hair! He must come from somewhere, go somewhere..." He sighed in genuine frustration. Felipe had to look away because he was smiling.

"Don't take it so hard," Gilberto said (and the sympathy in his voice made Felipe bite his cheek so he wouldn't laugh), "They've been looking for Zorro for well over a year now."

"You must be familiar with this bandit. What normally brings him to town?"

Gilberto shrugged. "Arresting your sister usually does it."

Escalante's stack of papers fluttered to the ground. "What?" he gasped.

"She never mentioned it?" Gilberto asked sweetly, helpfully bending down to help gather up the fallen newspapers.

"Arrested..."

"Mostly it is just for inconveniently pointing out illegal taxes. You know how irritating that can be to a despot." Gilberto smiled. "She was never held very long for that. The fabricated murder charge was another story, of course. But Zorro sorted that out fairly quickly. Mostly he hasn't bothered arresting her for a while."

Felipe snuck a quick glance. Escalante's mouth was opening and shutting like a fish.

"What, she never mentioned it?"

Escalante spun on his heel and stormed into the tavern. Gilberto's smile faded. "Diego will berate me for that eventually...But, dear God, Francisco can be stupid sometimes. He means well, but...and I don't want to hurt him."

Felipe understood completely.

It was another twenty minutes before Felipe had sold the last of his newspapers. He returned the money to the newspaper office. After that, the rest of the day was free. They didn't usually clear the type until Thursday.

Today, Felipe was going shopping. His own money was tied in a little bag in his pocket. He fingered it nervously as he walked among the booths. He had very little experience giving gifts to women. He had given Victoria a basket once, and he'd given Maria a Mantilla. What could he get for his mother?

And wasn't that an amazing thing, getting a present for his _mother_? But -

What?

Jewelry was expensive, and there wasn't any for sale on market day, anyway. There were some nicely carved boxes, but Felipe thought he could probably do as well himself...There were some gloves, but none the right size and there was no time to special order...The cheese lady had (in addition to the cheeses) some very nice lace mantillas. And really, there was nothing else. It was hardly original, but...

Feeling extremely awkward, he picked one up.

Z

They went home together in the wagon with Maria, Felipe's pony tied behind. The trip was uncomfortably quiet. There was very little Felipe could say that Mother could understand and a moving wagon wasn't an easy place to write notes. Maria and Mother weren't talking to each other, either, though. They were scarcely looking at one another. He didn't think they had quarreled...but they weren't getting along. He couldn't ask Maria why with Mother sitting right there, though, so he nudged them both and pointed out some flowers growing beside the road.

Felipe had hidden the mantilla away among Maria's household shopping. He would give it to Mother after supper. Usually, she went for a walk. This time he would go with her. It was a pretty mantilla. You could communicate with beauty, even if you didn't have words yet.

When they got home, Mother went to her room to lie down and Maria disappeared into the kitchen. Felipe returned the horses to the corral and took the package into his room. When he poked his head through the connecting door, he saw that Diego's room was empty. He hadn't seen him since they finished the press run that morning.

Diego wasn't in the cave or the parlor, so Felipe checked the garden. He and Gilberto were both there, sitting on the bench at the far side of the big rose arbor. Diego was leaning heavily against his brother's shoulder, and Felipe felt a stab of worry. Diego had been doing well lately...at least as far as Felipe knew. But if Diego _were_ feeling poorly - with everything else happening right now, would he let on?

Felipe's worries only solidified as Gilberto turned suddenly and put both his arms around Diego. He hurried forward, cursing the thorny plants he had to go around instead of cutting straight across the beds. And meanwhile, Gilberto wasn't doing _anything_; he wasn't calling for help or fetching water or -

It was only as he got closer that he realized that Diego wasn't ill. He was weeping. Felipe stumbled to a halt and stood transfixed.

It seemed impossible. Even more so when he realized what Diego was saying: "I have no right. I should be happy for him. Why can't I be happy for him?"

Gilberto pulled him closer and after a moment Diego dissolved against him. Felipe could only stand and watch, a horror growing inside him. After a few minutes, Diego pulled back slightly and rubbed his palm over his face. "What a piece of work I am! Last month I was moping around the house because I'd lost a sword fight. It seemed such a tragedy. Dear God, what an idiot. I had everything then, all a man could ask for, I was blessed - "

"Diego, don't do this," Gilberto pleaded. "It's not - "

Diego flinched back. "If you tell me it's not good for me, I will hit you."

Gilberto bowed his head. "I don't know what to do," he confessed. "I'm so sorry, Diego. I'm so sorry."

Diego shook his head tightly, but made no other answer. He just sat very stiffly, taking deep breaths and not looking at Gilberto. "Do you know," he said at last, "I have actually tried to love him less. Felipe. My - But he is not mine, 'Berto. He is not mine."

Slowly, heavily, Gilberto passed Diego a handkerchief and put an arm around his shoulders. Felipe took a step closer, and at once the hand behind Diego's back signed. "Stop. Go inside. Don't worry."

For a moment a hot anger rose up in response. Don't _worry_? This was Felipe's fault!

But he could see that there was no way he could make it better. He could not comfort Diego. He could not change anything. Felipe was going, he had to go, and Diego...

As quietly as he could, Felipe crept out of the garden. The truth of it ran round and round in his head. It was real. He was going. He had to go, and Diego...

Diego who had pulled him out of the mud when he was no one, who had saved him, loved him, turned his genius to finding a way to communicate, who had educated him, who had taught Felipe everything he knew about honor and justice and family...

He found himself in his room holding the scarf in his hands. The present for his mother, the woman he barely knew. She'd come all this way looking for her little boy. Her baby. And Felipe had been trying to picture that baby, wanted to be her child, hoped to get back so much that had been lost...

But he wasn't that baby anymore. He wasn't a man, no, but he knew things about honor and justice and family that little kids just didn't know. Felipe couldn't pretend to be just her child, that he was innocent and helpless, or that what he knew didn't matter -

Diego needed him and so did Zorro. It was both their lives on the line. And the territory depended on Zorro. And this ranch and Don Alejandro were protected only by the secret. What had Felipe been thinking, to imagine that he could turn his back on all that?

What kind of person would he be if he were able to? Not the person he wanted to be and certainly not the person Diego had taught him to be.

He was underage and ... how could he hurt her that way? His own mother?

Perhaps she would stay? She hadn't remarried and she had no other children. There was good work in the colony. And men outnumbered women and she was _so_ pretty. She had a trade. Or - Dona Elizabeth was looking for a housekeeper, wasn't she? There were so many ways she could stay.

He would write it all down and explain. It wasn't fair, to have her hear something like this translated. He would write it down and show her after dinner. He would explain - somehow - although the urgency would be hard when he couldn't mention Zorro.

And, oh, he couldn't mention Zorro, even if there was a chance she'd understand what Zorro meant to the pueblo. Helping him was absurdly dangerous. Less dangerous than living meekly and helplessly under Alcalde Ramone, but someone would only see it that way if they really understood how brilliant the twins were. So, no. Felipe understood enough about mothers to know that she would never allow that to continue.

It was a relief, he realized.

Like a great burden had suddenly lifted and he could stand up and breathe. He had not wanted to leave home for Mexico City, the huge city full of strangers where no one could understand him. No one at all. Felipe nearly laughed with joy.

Was this an excuse then? He had found a reason to do what he wanted to do?

It didn't matter. He could not abandon Zorro. He could not abandon Diego - _She_ was his mother, but Felipe was all the children Diego would ever have, too. And Diego was ill. And, no Don Alejandro could not simply hire someone else, because who else would Diego trust with his secrets?

He would explain. Somehow. He would make her understand.

**Dec 22, 1814 (part 1)**

**Gilberto**

Gilberto woke with a plan.

He would offer her cash.

It was rude and unsubtle and Father would be furious. Gilberto didn't care. She had hesitated when he'd offered her her own shop. He was convinced now that he had only offered the _wrong_ bribe.

There was nothing to lose, anyway. They only had a few days until the next coach south. Right after Christmas Felipe would be gone, and it was clear Diego could not withstand it...

He rose and dressed almost cheerfully. He and Diego had been putting some money away a little at a time in case Zorro had need of it. He could meet her price, he was sure. Whatever it was.

But when he came out to breakfast she wasn't there. Diego and Felipe weren't in the dining room either. Resolutely patient, Gilberto sat down to wait. After barely a minute though, he was up again. It wasn't particularly early, and Diego had gone to bed directly after dinner, saying he didn't feel well. If he and Felipe were both late to breakfast...well, Gilberto would look in on them.

In the hall he heard a tread in the library and changed his course. Diego was hurrying away from the fireplace. "Have you seen Felipe?" he said aloud while his hands asked, "Did you go out last night?"

Gilberto had to take an extra moment to absorb both questions at once. "No," he answered them both.

"His bed has not been slept in," Diego said, and added in sign, "He is not below."

"You can't mean he's missing," Gilberto said sternly. "When was the last time you saw him?"

"He was here in the library speaking with the senora when I went to bed," Diego said.

"They went for a walk after that," Gilberto said.

"When?"

"I didn't notice. I was - " Sulking. Worrying. Brooding. "Busy."

Diego turned on his heel and hurried back to the guest room. He knocked loudly, and managed to wait, his hands balled into fists for almost three seconds before opening the door. Gilberto leaned around Diego's shoulder. Her bed had not been slept in.

Slowly, Diego turned around.

"No. What could have happened? To both of them?" Gilberto was protesting, though neither of them had spoken their worries aloud.

"Something, obviously."

"We haven't had bandits this close to town in months. And it's not as though Felipe would get lost. Felipe does not get into trouble!" He didn't leave Diego alone all night, either.

"We have to find them," Diego said, stalking back up the hall and leaving Gilberto to hurry after him.

There was a knock at the door. For a moment they both froze. Diego turned slowly and lifted his brows slightly. Gilberto had to agree that it was a little ominous, coming just now. He shrugged.

Wryly, Diego nodded toward the door. Gilberto motioned to him to go and quickly slipped into the parlor to snatch Father's old cavalry sword off the wall. He had it half out of the sheath when he heard little Victoria's voice in the front hall. He snapped the sword back into place just in time as Diego guided Victoria into the room.

"- seems almost silly now that I've come all the way out here," she was saying. "But it did seem very odd, especially under the circumstances." She glanced around almost nervously, and nodded absently when she saw Gilberto.

"Senorita," he said less politely than he intended, "we weren't expecting you." He was already planning the search. They would check the barn first, to see if they had taken out any of the horses...

"No, but I thought it best...it's probably nothing, I mean, how could it mean anything - "

"Victoria, perhaps this could wait," Diego interrupted. "We've misplaced Felipe at the moment, and I think we should - "

Her hand closed hard on his arm. "Felipe is missing? What about his - the woman?"

Diego shook his head, frowning. He was nearly dancing with worry now.

Victoria closed her eyes. "That is what I was coming to tell you. Last night Francisco remembered why Felipe looked so familiar. He looks like the son of a man he knows in Mexico City. The president of the Royal Bank."

Gilberto's thoughts of searching the gardens and barns tumbled to a halt.

"A coincidence, of course," Victoria said, fidgeting. "It must be. Except at church she had an uneven seam in her skirt. It's such a small thing, I know, but a _seamstress_..."

"I didn't notice," Gilberto managed to whisper. "But yes, that's...telling." He glanced at Diego, but Diego was frozen. Gilberto forced himself forward. He took Victoria's arm and towed her smoothly toward the door. "You were right to tell us. It very likely _is_ a coincidence. I imagine they got to talking somewhere. But just to be sure, we'll go find them."

"Of course," she said, "I won't keep you. You will let me know if there is anything I can do."

"You have already done a great deal. We're in your debt." Perhaps very deeply in her debt. But no. Surely not. Felipe could not be in the hands of a bank robber. She was a woman. She looked so much like him. It could not be.

"I'm sure we'll all feel very silly when you find them."

"No doubt." It was all Gilberto could do not to shove Victoria out the door and slam it after her. As soon as the door was politely shut, though, he turned and ran for the guest room. Her bag was gone. There was no spare dress hanging in the wardrobe.

It made no sense. Why would she run? Why would she abduct him? They would have given her a ride to the coach, carried their luggage, paid the fare...

He ran for the cave, not waiting for Diego. As he came down the steps he discovered that Diego had not waited for him. The black clothing was gone from the hat rack. Diego's own suit was tossed across a chair and Toronado's stall was empty.

It should not have been a shock. He should have seen this coming, and he hated himself for missing it. "Diego," he said to the empty room, "I am going to kill you."

He folded the clothing. No matter how much hurry you were in, you couldn't afford the suspicions unusual wrinkles would arouse. Not that Diego had thought this part through, since he was not Zorro.

_God help us. He is Zorro today. _

Gilberto stormed back into the main house and told Maria no one would be coming to breakfast. He fetched and loaded his musket. He took Father's cavalry sword, too. He saddled Viking and Esperanza, and then led the old mare down into the ravine, so no one would wonder about Diego... It all took a horribly long time.

Diego, at least, would lose time searching for their trail. And, fortunately, he made no attempt to conceal his own tracks, so Gilberto might gain on him a little...

But Viking was no match for Toronado. The only way Gilberto would catch up to him was if Diego suddenly found his good sense and stopped to wait. Or if he fainted and fell out of the saddle.

"Little Brother, I am going to kill you."

_~TBC_


	18. Dec 22, 1814

**Dec 22, 1814**

**Continued**

**Felipe**

He was tied. His wrists were bound behind him, and while they were not pulled brutally tight, he had spent the night this way, and his shoulders ached and his hands were numb.

The cart was battered and old. Cross-country it had jolted and bounced, knocking him hard against the wooden slats. Even now, on the road, the shaking was rough and uncomfortable. Felipe had not slept and he was thirsty.

He tried to think, but the few thoughts that came together made no sense. She had allowed the man to hit him, she didn't seem to mind, even, so how could she be his mother? And yet - if he weren't hers, why was she taking him?

She had only nodded sadly when she read his letter and told him that there was something she wanted to show him. She had gone briefly to her room, and then, carrying her small bag in one hand, linked an arm through his and led him outside into the moonlight.

Felipe gave her the mantilla. She had smiled and patted his hair and took his hand and led him across the road and over the hill into the field of melons. Felipe had tried to ask where they were going. She only smiled and shook her head. "I have something to show you, I told you."

On the far side of the melon field, though, she had turned away from him and said loudly, "I think he suspects something. We have to go now."

Before Felipe could properly wonder who she was talking to - let alone make sense of the odd statement - he had been grabbed and tossed to the ground.

It was dark and they were far from the house. He fought, but the grubby-smelling man was bigger and stronger. His hands were large and he was heavy, and when Felipe stopped fighting fair and _bit_, he pulled back only far enough to kick him sharply. Pain exploded in Felipe's side, and he rolled away.

As he sucked in air and blinked back tears his hands were forced behind him and tied. A hand knotted into his hair and hauled him onto his feet.

There had been a stumbling, painful walk, and then the cart. They had tied him in and driven into the darkness, first across the hills and then onto the road...

They were turning off now, though, back into the long grass. The sky was beginning to lighten, but his bonds had been tied off to a hook in the side of the cart, and he couldn't turn enough to see where they were.

He was sore from the bouncing and the hard 'bed' he'd been lying on. He tried to shift his legs to take some of bumps, but that only hurt his knees. Contemplating his misery, he realized with a start that he should probably not just be unhappy and thirsty and hurting and confused; he should also be afraid. That would surely be sensible. He had been violently abducted: how could he not be afraid?

And yet, it was hardly as though Diego would somehow _not notice_ he was missing. It was even possible that he had noticed before dawn, but even if it took him until breakfast, he would still send Zorro to hunt them down. Gilberto was an excellent tracker. He could find them on foot, never mind a horse and this miserable cart. As for the man - Felipe had not seen him in daylight, but he was fairly sure he was smaller than Gilberto, and he was definitely slower. He might have a gun, but Zorro would have a sword and a whip and Toronado. It would be no contest, really. Felipe only wished he would _hurry_...

The cart jolted to a stop. Felipe tried to look up, but a heavy hand came behind him, tugged his wrists free of the hook and hauled him to the ground. His knees and ankles wouldn't hold him at first, and he fell on his face in the sweet winter grass. He expected to be kicked or shoved, but he was left alone to rise clumsily and look around. They were in the foothills somewhere, probably south and east of the hacienda. Don Roberto's land? Don Emilio's? He wasn't sure. The building in front of them was a line shack, though, so it was someone's summer pastureland.

The woman - who was either his mother and quite mad or not his mother at all - gripped him by the arm and prodded him toward the door. "Don't make a fuss," she said firmly. "You won't get away, and there is no point in hurting you. We're going to rest the horses for a couple of hours. If you're good, I'll give you something to eat."

Felipe had no intention of running. It would just be harder for Gilberto to find him if he ran. And he wanted to see Zorro capture them.

The line shack was not quite as nice is the de le Vega's were. It had a door that shut with a leather thong, three sets of bunk beds, and a single window with shutters. The eves were open to let in fresh air. It was narrow, and the dirt floor was uneven.

The man tied Felipe to one of the bed supports, but the 'beds' themselves were only rope webs meant to be covered with hides and a bedroll. He crouched against the edge and tried to get comfortable. He ached all over and the thirst was a burning now.

The man dropped a folded blanked across the other bed and sat down to dig through a bag of supplies. He offered the woman a piece of jerky and took a long drink from a canteen. He saw Felipe staring and chuckled. He reached across the narrow gap and poured out a mouthful of water in the direction of Felipe's face. Most of it ran down his chin to soak his shirt. Felipe gritted his teeth and refused to notice either the mess or his thirst.

The woman produced a comb and began to comb out her modest braid. She still looked very solemn and lovely, even now. Felipe desperately wished he could ask her why.

The shadow in the doorway made them all look up. Zorro. The wave of relief Felipe felt made him think that perhaps he _had _been afraid, just a little.

The man gasped and made a dive toward Felipe. Zorro barely seemed to move, but with a loud cracking noise the whip spun outward and snared the man's arm. Another tiny movement and he lurched forward to land in the dirt at Zorro's feet. Snarling, he tugged free and grabbed for his knife, but Zorro already had his sword in his hand. "Try it," he said coldly.

The man hesitated.

"Don't Jorje. Please. It is Zorro." She was begging.

"He is only a man. I can take him."

She crouched down and reached to catch his hand. "You can't. It's Zorro. He'll kill you."

"Yes. I might."

Felipe's head spun. That cold voice wasn't Gilberto's. He stared, desperately trying to understand and at the same time rejecting the obvious. He could see it was Diego. The twins were very alike, but Felipe had grown up with him. It was Diego...and it must not, _must_ not be.

"All right then. Leave your weapons on the floor and stand up." Flat, cold, angry, and with none of Zorro's usual mockery or grandstanding. It was all wrong. And it was Felipe's fault. No, _no_. Zorro produced a little knife and cut the ropes binding Felipe to the bed frame. "Stay put for a moment," he said, and motioned the kidnappers outside with his sword.

Felipe's arms dropped limply and he slid to the floor. The hopelessness and fear he hadn't felt before crushed down on him now. Diego had come. Diego. He wasn't supposed to do that. He wasn't supposed to risk himself like this and certainly not for _Felipe_.

This was his fault. Diego had come after criminals for him.

He didn't look up when footsteps returned. Diego crouched beside him. "It's me. I'm right here. I'm going to take you home."

Felipe didn't look up. A drop of water splashed onto the dirt of the floor.

"Felipe, I'm so sorry," Diego whispered. He put a tentative hand on Felipe's shoulder.

Felipe pushed the hand away. "How could you? For me? Because of _me_? Are you mad? I don't want you to die!" His hands were stiff and clumsy and the words were a useless mush.

"I know. It's terrible, I know," Diego whispered huskily. "Please, please let me take you home?"

Oh. Yes. He had to get Diego home as quickly as possible, before they ran into a patrol or even a farmer. He stood up quickly - and swayed.

Diego caught his arm. "Are you all right?" He saw the canteen lying on the floor and handed it to him. Felipe couldn't grip the cap to get it open and Diego had to take it back and open it for him.

Felipe drained it dry and dropped it back on the floor.

Z

The woman and Jorje were tied - wrists and arms and ankles - and secured in the back of the cart. Felipe drove the cart and Zorro paced along behind keeping watch. The trip was more comfortable in the seat, but no quicker. The poor horse had been pulling all night and Toronado was walking off a lather. Diego must have galloped half the way...

Felipe tried not to think about that.

When they turned onto the road - at last - Felipe saw a lone rider coming from the north. He glanced back at Zorro, worried that he would have to run into the trees to hide, but he looked chagrined rather than alarmed. Felipe checked again, and with a flood of relief realized that the rider was Gilberto.

Viking ran the last hundred yards and came to a stop with a spray of dirt. Gilberto leapt out of the saddle and hauled Felipe bodily from the cart and into a hard hug. After a moment he took a shaking breath, squared his shoulders, and stepped firmly backward.

"So I missed the excitement, I see," he said. "Two scoundrels, then? Were there any more?"

Felipe shook his head quickly.

With an arm around his shoulder Gilberto drew him close again and said over his head, "Senor Zorro, I see we are in your debt again. My brother is very fond of this one. It would have been a terrible blow if anything had happened to him."

Zorro only touched his had graciously and said, "My pleasure, I assure you."

"Perhaps you could do us another favor and see him home? I'll take these villains into town for you. If _you_ go it will only irritate the alcalde..."

"A hobby of mine, but in this case I'll let the opportunity pass."

If he had not known better, Felipe would have taken this little performance for the real thing. As it was, it made him dizzy.

Gilberto gave Felipe Viking's reins and climbed onto the cart. Motioning Felipe to follow, Zorro turned back off the road.

They walked the horses through the foothills: green meadow and rocky scarp and green meadow again. Felipe still wasn't sure where they were. He followed Diego mechanically, clinging to the saddle horn and trying not to think about the last day.

At the edge of a narrow creek, Diego dismounted and came to Viking's side. "Come down," he said softly.

Felipe stumbled as he dismounted, and Diego caught his arm. His hand was warm and familiar and right -

And Felipe barely shoved Diego out of the way in time to keep from throwing up all over Gilberto's boots. With a startled exclamation, Diego moved around behind him and guided Felipe's hand to brace against a tree so he could lean over and vomit properly. There was nothing but water in his stomach. Felipe brought up all of that, and then a burning yellow bile that made his eyes sting. Even when that was gone, Felipe's stomach continued to heave.

Diego pulled him from the tree and forced him down beside the creek, where he splashed Felipe's face and neck gently with cold water until the spasms had passed.

Leaving Felipe to sit on the bank, Diego went to rummage in Toronado's saddlebags. He came back with a clean scrap of cotton, the canteen, and the little bag of hardtack. "Here," he said. "Wipe your face."

When he was done, Diego laid the cloth aside and took Felipe's hands. He turned them over, looking at the red lines the rope had left. He sighed.

"Not my mother," Felipe signed, pulling away.

Diego swallowed. "No. Never your mother. I'm sorry."

"Not 'Jose.'"

"No." He swallowed hard. "Felipe."

"Why?"

"You resemble the son of a bank president...They meant to use you."

Felipe nodded slowly. Never his mother, then. It had all been a pretty story. His stomach lurched again. He gritted his teeth and made it settle.

"I am so sorry, Felipe. A bank robber and a kidnapper...and I let her in our home. I would have let...I'm so sorry."

Felipe rolled his eyes. Of course he would be worried about something stupid like that. Felipe swatted him on the shoulder and said, "Idiot."

Diego flinched, his eyes going wide behind the mask. "I'm sorry - "

"You can't get killed, not for me. Not because of me."

"I don't understand," Diego whispered. "Why are you angry?"

Felipe stripped off the Zorro's black glove and rested two fingers pointedly against Diego's wrist. The little pulse beneath was strong and regular but far too fast as Diego's heart struggled to keep up with the day's exertions. Felipe let him go. "Too dangerous." He would have liked to say more, but his hands and wrist ached terribly and he hated the rough way the words were coming out.

"Ah." Diego said. "Zorro." He shifted and pulled a rock out from under his leg. He tossed it aside and resettled. "Toronado is the fastest horse in the territory, but_ I_ couldn't be seen to be riding him. So."

"Gilberto could have done it!"

"Well," Diego said carefully. "Gilberto loves you. And I'm sure he will be very angry with me. And I don't doubt he could have found you as quickly. But you are my son. And it is the privilege of parents to do stupid and dangerous things to protect their children."

Diego looked so sure and reasonable Felipe wanted to hit him. "My real parents - not _her_, them - already did that. Not you. Not you. Not you."

Diego opened his arms. He nodded slowly. "Not me. I'm just fine. See?"

Felipe set his jaw and rested his sore hands in his lap.

"Don't ask me not to come for you, Felipe. That's not fair. Certainly not today, when I knew I could. Felipe, you are _mine_."

Felipe had not intended to move, but he found himself in Diego's arms, blinking back tears and sniffing. Diego petted his hair as though he were very small.

When Felipe finally stilled, Diego nudged him up and passed him the canteen. "Just a few sips," he cautioned, digging in the leather bag that held the hardtack. He broke off a few crumbs and held them out. "Suck on them until they melt a little. I know it's no fun, being sick."

The little lumps sat on his tongue like rocks and tasted like wheat. He sucked on them until they were soft enough to chew. They seemed to settle into his belly easily enough. Diego gave him the water again and a hard, brownish lump the size of Felipe's thumb. Felipe nibbled it cautiously.

Diego eased back to lean against a tree and sighed. "You figured it out, didn't you? You noticed something. It spoiled her game and they had to try to run for it."

Felipe paused in scraping the dry edge of the hardtack against his front teeth to shake his head.

"No? Then why did they take you? They had us completely fooled."

Felipe set the lump down on his knee and said, "I told her... I don't want to go to Mexico. I asked her to stay here...but I said I wouldn't go."

Diego gaped almost comically. "You told her - but you believed she was your mother!"

Felipe felt his face go hot. "This is my home. _You_ are here." After a moment he added, "You are my family."

"Oh, Felipe..."

"It saved me! We wouldn't know!"

Diego closed his eyes. "It did save you. Thank God. It saved you..."

Felipe reached out and took his hand. "Let's go home."

Z

They had to go to the cave first, of course. Felipe quickly rubbed Toronado down while Diego changed. Felipe needn't have hurried. Diego was moving very slowly, now. His hair, under Zorro's mask, was matted with sweat. Felipe filled the feed and water buckets and pretended not to notice.

Finally, on Viking and Esperanza, they rode back to the house.

They were astonished to find it in turmoil. Vaqueros raced this way and that, passing around muskets and packs of supplies, leading horses out of the barn, forming into little groups. Don Alejandro stood in the middle of them, snapping instructions and pacing. Juan saw them and pointed over Don Alejandro's shoulder. He spun around as the swarming activity around him stuttered to a halt.

Slowly, Don Alejandro walked toward them, reaching for the bridles of the two horses. "Are you all right?" he asked quietly. "Both of you?"

"Yes, Father," Diego said.

"And where is 'Berto?"

"He should be in town by now, turning the kidnappers over to Mendoza."

Don Alejandro closed his eyes briefly and nodded. Then, briskly, he came beside Viking and reached up to help Felipe down as though he were a small child. Felipe didn't resist the help or the arms that closed around him afterward. "Well done," Don Alejandro said.

"Zorro beat us to it, I'm afraid," Diego said, lowering himself slowly out of the saddle. "By the time I arrived it was all over, and Gilberto was already taking the Senora and her partner to town in a cart."

Old Juan was waved people back to the barn. Maria came running out of the house. She swept Felipe into a huge hug.

"How did you know?" Diego asked.

"I stopped at the tavern as I came through town," he said.

"Ah. Victoria."

"Of course." He frowned. "I hope Zorro stays out of town. Francisco Escalante..." He sighed and shook his head. "Well. Have either of you had anything to eat today? No? I'm sure Maria has something."

Still holding onto one of Felipe's hands, she nodded vigorously.

**Gilberto **

He was tempted to stay in town for a while and describe (in detail) his encounter with Zorro to Francisco, but once he heard that Father had passed through the pueblo Gilberto couldn't get home quickly enough.

He arrived to find the rest of the family around the table eating a late lunch. Although Felipe and Diego both looked exhausted, they all looked well and Gilberto felt the knot in his belly loosen. He pulled up a chair just as Maria set a plate of bean and tortillas in front of him.

"Did you have any trouble in town?" Father asked.

"Mendoza says it's quite bad enough when Zorro brings him bandits and cutthroats, if everyone else starts doing it, too, he's going to be out of a job."

Diego didn't smile at that, and of course Father didn't get the joke. "I want to go into pueblo later. I want a look at these - Well."

Diego said, "Father was just telling us about his trip north. He got the wood he wanted for a very good price, and he got to visit the Cristobals."

"They send their love, by the way," Father added.

Gilberto nodded. They were having a completely normal lunch, then. Probably wise. Felipe and Diego both looked pinched and exhausted. A great deal had been demanded of them, and the drama was surely not over yet.

So they talked about Santa Barbara and Santa Paulo. They talked about the newspaper. They talked about the herd and the ugly sheep and Gilberto's bees. Finally, lunch was finished and Diego said, "Felipe, you can't have gotten any sleep last night. Why don't you go lie down?" He started to rise, but Gilberto waved him back.

"I'll look after him," he said, shooting Father a hard look. Father glanced at Diego and nodded slightly.

Gilberto stopped by his room for two pots of salve and the old pillowcase where he kept his bandages (he tried not to think about how many places in the house had medical supplies hidden away or why they needed them) and went into the little nursery that was now Felipe's bedroom.

Felipe sat on the edge of the bed and dropped his eyes unhappily.

Gilberto sighed. "Would you really rather Diego did this?" he asked.

Felipe's head snapped up and looked bewildered. Gilberto waved the bandages.

Felipe dropped his eyes again, shaking his head. "I'm sorry," he said, and the sign looked so pitiful and he boy looked so distraught ...Gilberto wished Diego _were_ here.

"Why...are you sorry?" Gilberto hoped this wasn't the wrong question.

"Diego came after me. It was so dangerous...I'm sorry, I'm sorry."

Gilberto forced himself to roll his eyes and snort impatiently. "It is hardly your fault my brother is an idiot! I don't blame you." Felipe didn't smile. It was clear he blamed himself. "Listen," Gilberto said seriously. "It wasn't your fault or mine either. I mean, do you really think Diego worriedI_ wouldn't _rescue you? Or that he thought I couldn't handle it? Diego had to do this. Surely you can imagine why?"

Felipe shrugged unhappily.

"Anyway, I will give him hell for this, but _you_ must not. Show a little faith in him, hm? Trust that whatever he did it was the right thing? He really...he really does not need to be reminded by you that he may not be well enough to take care of you."

Felipe nodded sadly.

"Now. Give me your hands." Gilberto spread comfrey salve along the red lines at his wrists. The wounds were broad and puffy, not deep and thin. Felipe had not been struggling against rope. "They aren't very bad. Odd, though. Whatever did they tie you with?"

Felipe drew a scrap of lace from his sash. It was cotton and soft, perhaps from a woman's belt or mantilla. Gilberto laid it aside and bandaged the wrists lightly so the salve wouldn't get all over everything.

"Now. Where else?"

Reluctantly, Felipe lifted his shirt. A couple of small, dark bruises were spread across his ribs. He'd been kicked. Concealing his worry, Gilberto laid his palm against the worst of them, spread his fingers as widely as he could, and commanded, "Breathe." He felt nothing shift. "Does it hurt?"

Felipe shrugged stiffly.

Well. Not broken. Of course if they had been, surely they would have known long before this. He sighed and passed Felipe the jar of liniment. "Anywhere else?"

Felipe shook his head.

Gilberto waited until he had spread the ointment over the bruises and changed into an old shirt. Then he said carefully, "I think...perhaps it is better that he found you first. I think I might have simply killed them, if it had been me. And I would have regretted that later. You thought she was your mother yesterday. You didn't need to see me do that. Diego...he never forgets what is important. We should be glad he..."

Felipe flung his arms around Gilberto's chest and clung to him. That was certainly unexpected. For all that they were allies and family, they didn't have a lot in common. Gilberto would not have said they were friends, not exactly. He patted Felipe's head and tried to think of something reassuring to say. "I know it seems very bad now...but I promise you...It will get better. You will always have a home here, always."

Felipe shoved him off and rolled his eyes. "Idiot!" he signed stiffly. "I was _thanking _you."

Oh. "Oh. Well...good. Not...sad, then?"

Felipe sat back down on the bed. "Angry. Angrier when I'm not so tired. What a terrible thing! Awful and cruel! But I'm not sorry I'm not leaving. This is _home_."

Gilberto wasn't sure he understood that last, but he wasn't going to push the boy now. "Lie down and get some sleep then."

Z

"Didn't you ask for any proof?"

Wincing, Gilberto walked faster when he heard that. Father was not supposed to be haranguing Diego, not now.

Diego answered calmly enough, though. He could be frighteningly reasonable. "It was easier to believe she had lost everything in the war than that she would have a family Bible or some old plaything of his...and Felipe can remember so little of his life before."

Diego and Father were in the library. Father had at least gotten Diego's feet up. Father was pacing beside the fireplace, his arms tightly folded. He was in a temper. Gilberto tried to draw some of his fire. "She looked just like him, Father. Her eyes, her hair, the shape of her nose. The resemblance was very convincing."

Father ran his hands through his hair. "All right. I can accept that. Now may I ask why the two of you ran off by yourselves rather than turning out every last tenant and vaquero to search for him?"

"The trail was fresh and Diego is an excellent tracker. And I...was too busy watching him to organize all those people..."

"We admit," Diego cut in quickly, "it was foolish. I wasn't thinking very clearly. You can't imagine - "

"Waking up and finding someone had stolen your child?" Father asked. "No. I have to say, I cannot imagine it. A nightmare, surely. But Diego, I returned home to find all three of you missing and in unknown peril. Even when you are upset, Diego, you must continue to _think_."

Gilberto poured a glass of wine and handed it to Diego. "Father, if we had known to expect you, we would have scheduled Felipe's abduction at a more convenient time."

Well, that got him Father's attention - a great deal of it. "If you think this is a laughing matter - "

"I think that we are safe," he said firmly.

"Thanks only to Zorro! You cannot count on a masked man to save you from your folly!"

Gilberto caught himself before he actually opened his mouth to defend Zorro. He glanced at Diego to remind himself why he _must _contain his temper and said meekly, "Father you are correct. Please relent."

The surrender surprised him. He froze for a moment and then deflated slowly into a chair. "How are you holding up, Diego?" he asked softly.

"I told you, Father. I'm fine. Tired, but...more because I haven't slept well then because I'm ill. I'm fine."

"Will you be all right here alone? I think 'Berto and I should go to town."

"I'm fine, Father. Honestly."

**Diego**

He woke certain that someone else was in the room. Diego turned onto his side and slitted his eyes. By the light it was early evening. Father Benitez was kneeling on the floor by the window. He glanced up, crossed himself, and moved to a chair beside the bed.

Diego sat up and shoved a pillow behind him. "Father," he said.

"How are you, Diego?"

Diego smiled. "I am...wonderful. Content. Delighted. There is so much to do, and I've been given a chance to do it - tell me, could you see what an idiot I was being?"

"I saw that you were...discouraged."

"I have the newspaper and Felipe. And there is a great deal to be done for 'Berto." Zorro. "I have been an idiot, not seeing..." he shook his head helplessly. How could he explain?

Father Benitez looked surprisingly stern, all things considered. He narrowed his eyes and asked, "Have you...proven what you needed to prove, then? Finally?"

"What?" Diego asked, startled.

"Everyone in town has heard the story of how Don Gilberto encountered Zorro and his prisoners. The grandstanding can't continue, Diego. You must give it up. Tell me you are finished."

"But - No. Father it wasn't like that, I didn't have anything to prove. That's not why I did it."

"No?"

"No!" Diego denied. "Well...yes, but not what you think. This isn't about my infirmity or proving I can do what Zorro does..."

"What then?" he asked doubtfully.

"Felipe...How can I claim I have any right to raise him if I won't risk anything on his behalf? Am I only to be his parent when it is convenient and safe? He's not my blood - but he's _mine_ just the same. How could I stay here safe at home when..."

Father Benitez studied his hands thoughtfully. After a long moment he said, "You're right. I withdraw my complaint. Perhaps I can't blame you for this."

Diego scowled. "Felipe can. He was very angry. He may not forgive me for a while." He sighed. "I know he doesn't mean to be cruel - "

"Oh, I rather think he might, at least occasionally."

Diego flinched. "What do you mean?"

"He has suffered a great deal these last few days, and as you said, he is very angry. I am sure he is angry at them and at himself...But Diego, you are the great power in his world. Of course he will be angry at you. You managed to save his life, but you could not prevent him from having his heart broken. You must expect to take the worst of his hurt and anger. You must be forgiving."

Diego shook his head. "No. Felipe is very reasonable. You're wrong."

"Well, perhaps. I might underestimate him. I still continue to underestimate you, after all. But I think you should expect to be very patient and forgiving for a while."

Diego sighed, wondering how bad it might get. Father Benitez patted his shoulder sympathetically.

"I need to ask a favor," Diego said.

"Ask, my friend."

"This story must be covered by _The Guardian_, but I...even if I could write it, it would be poor journalism, under the circumstances."

"I will right the story."

"Thank you."

The little priest started to rise. "You should get some more rest, Diego."

"Before you go, will you hear my confession?"

He nodded slowly. "Sit up, then - no, don't try to kneel, I'm not strong enough to catch you."

Diego bowed his head and began.


	19. January 3, 1815

_It's strange, you know. We're covering Colonialism in class this week. I'd never really envisioned myself writing period fanfic. Posting this is kindof surreal. The series did, I think, have the will to address the historic issues, but it didn't have the time for either detail or accuracy (don't get me started about the teepees!). And the intended audiance was kind of young. But the realities of the history I know...leave me in a bit of a pickle. I'm sure I haven't done it justice, but I have done my best. _

**January 3, 1815 **

Diego and Felipe were almost never apart. Of course, that had been true _before_, but in the days following Felipe's abduction they were literally usually within arms' reach. Felipe scarcely left Diego's side even to tend to Toronado. He was punctual about the work, but he rushed it - unless, of course, Diego was in the cave working on some experiment or assembling explosives. Then Felipe was right there beside him...

Diego seemed every bit as affected as Felipe. He worked on the newspaper wherever Felipe did his homework. He didn't once slip away to take walks in the garden alone. He didn't send Felipe on errands.

At first, Gilberto had assumed they were both worried about how the other had weathered the abduction and rescue. Then, yesterday afternoon, Felipe came to Gilberto with a problem and he realized that things were more complicated.

Diego had been napping in the library while Gilberto wrote a letter across the hall in the parlor. Felipe had tapped on his arm and asked for advice.

That was unusual, and for a moment Gilberto was tempted to tease him about it. Curiosity won out. Gilberto set down the quill and leaned back in the chair, waving Felipe to sit down.

"How do you think we can change how I look?"

"Um...what?" He ran the series of signs over in his mind again. They didn't make any more sense the second time. "What?"

"I want to look different."

"You want to look differently? Aren't you a little young to worry about that?"

Felipe rolled his eyes. "I look like _him_. Him. It would be...better if I looked different. Perhaps if I cut my hair very short?"

"Him? The banker's son, you mean?"

Felipe nodded impatiently.

"But what - you think someone else will take you?" It was a dreadful thought. Gilberto winced.

Felipe glanced away and shrugged.

"Felipe...a plan like that can work only if no one knows about it. It has no chance now. No one will try it. You must see that."

Felipe shrugged doubtfully. 'Maybe,' then.

"You disagree?" Gilberto asked.

"Reasonable," Felipe conceded.

Gilberto narrowed his eyes and considered. Appeals to logic usually worked with Felipe. He glanced toward the library; even now Felipe and Diego were barely out of sight of one another. It wasn't one another's_ health_ they were worried about, Gilberto realized. It was their close brush with separation.

Someone had lied her way into their house, deceived Felipe about who he _was_, and then beat him, bound him, and dragged him away.

Felipe stood up and took a step back. Gilberto shook his head and pointed back at the chair.

"You think I'm being stupid," Felipe said.

"No." But it was not what they had expected. Felipe had said he would be angry. Father Benitez had warned Diego that Felipe might difficult. None of them had expected that he would simply be afraid. "Have you been having bad dreams?"

Felipe shrugged. Gilberto decided to interpret that as 'yes.' The child looked ready to jump up again.

Carefully, he asked, "Will you feel safe if we change how you look?"

Felipe stopped glancing hopefully at the door and frowned, thinking. He sighed and shook his head.

"The real problem isn't how you look."

"I'm being a baby," Felipe admitted, flushing.

"Oh, I don't think so. The world is a dangerous place. There are all kinds of things to be afraid of. Snakes and bears and earthquakes, and the alcalde. Really, if we took the time to properly worry about all of it we'd never get anything done."

Felipe made a face at that.

"You think I'm kidding."

"You can't worry about everything!" Felipe protested.

Gilberto smiled, although, in fact, he _could_ worry about everything. "True. And...you won't be taken from us. No one has a prayer at succeeding at that, not now that we know."

Felipe shrugged. Gilberto was beginning to hate the fact that he could dodge questions so easily. He set that aside and smiled encouragingly. "Tomorrow, the prisoners will be moved to the capital. It will be better when they're gone. This will pass, that's what they say, isn't it? But it is all right to...take a little while to...calm down again. After all, Diego is still a bit nervous, too.

Felipe shook his head. "He's not."

Gilberto opened his mouth to contradict him - and closed it. Diego was undeniably clucking over Felipe like a hen with one chick...but _was_ he worried? Could he conceal it from Felipe if he were?

"Diego is happy," Felipe said firmly.

"Oh." _Happy?_ Gilberto had not seen it, but then, he had only assumed he knew what Diego was thinking. _Hm_. He set the puzzle aside for a moment. "Well. Trust him, then. Follow his lead. Try anyway."

Z

Gilberto was still trying to determine Diego's state of mind the next day. It was Tuesday, which meant Diego and Felipe were in town to set the newspaper, but this time the rest of the family was in town, too. A military caravan was passing through heading north. Francisco (who had not been able to capture Zorro, after all, to his great frustration) and the prisoners would be traveling with them. Gilberto wanted to say good-bye to Francisco, and he wanted to gloat a bit as Jorje and Anna Costa were carted away in the big cage.

It was almost lunch time, however, and the column still hadn't moved on. The wheel on one of the supply wagons was broken, and twenty extra lancers were loitering in town while the blacksmith fixed it.

It was chilly and drizzling, and the low dark clouds promised heavier rain later. Gilberto sat on the tavern porch watching the glum lancers trudge around the broken wagon. There was no tea any more (and a long time since there was coffee or chocolate) so Gilberto's cup held a concoction of mint and orange peel. It was more or less drinkable. He said as much to Victoria as she came by to refill his cup.

He expected the back handed compliment would warrant a frown at the very least, but she only nodded absently. "Senora Neilson, of course. She is a genius in the kitchen. It is a shame she can only work half the week." She sighed. "And I will lose her in a few weeks when her crops start to come in."

"Perhaps you will have Pilar back by then."

Victoria shook her head sadly. "Perhaps. But her grandfather... At any rate, Senora Neilson is pleasant company and an excellent cook. Wait till you see the little dumplings we are having for lunch."

Gilberto nodded. He also knew that the family badly needed the money. Reviving a derelict farm wasn't easy. The harvest must seem like a long way away. Father had offered them a loan, but they wouldn't consider it.

"Oh, here comes Don Alejandro. I'll go get another cup."

Father shook the water drops off his hat and dropped into a chair.

Gilberto smiled wryly. "You aren't actually complaining because it's raining?" he teased.

"I am thankful for the rain," he answered promptly. "I know the delay scarcely matters in the greater scheme of things. But the house...will make things so much easier on Diego." He sighed. Right now the adobe was piled under sailcloth waiting for the rain to stop. "Although, I admit...he does not seem to be suffering at the moment."

Diego and Felipe had just come out of the newspaper office. Diego was laughing at something Felipe had said. Felipe reached for something in Diego's pocket, and Diego dodged neatly aside and caught him playfully in a headlock. He released him at once and prodded him to hurry out of rain. They were both laughing as they took the remaining seats at the table.

Gilberto narrowed his eyes. Diego was flushed and panting, but he didn't seem the least put out by it. Had Felipe named it: was Diego happy?

His work on the newspaper since Felipe's rescue was excellent, but that was always true, even when he was in a dark mood or worn down by his illness. He was patient and polite, but again, he usually was; he'd gotten very adept at pretending to be content.

"Well. That certainly took long enough," Diego said.

"Hm?" Gilberto roused himself. "What?"

Father nodded toward the square. The activity had suddenly taken on a more purposeful cast. Oh. They might be leaving at last. Gilberto set down his tea and rubbed his palms over his knees.

The cuartel gates swung open and the prison wagon came creaking out. There were four men inside, three of them having been in it when it had arrived in town the night before. The last was Jorge Costa, Felipe's kidnapper. The woman, chained, sat in the seat beside the driver.

Felipe stood up and walked to the edge of the porch. Diego followed him at once and put an arm around his shoulders. Father took his other side and set a hand on his shoulder. Watching the three of them from behind, Gilberto felt his rage rise up in a wave. His family, his whole world had been endangered by their vile -

Firmly, Gilberto folded his arms and tucked his hands in. He had held his temper this long, he would not give in now. Certainly, he would _not_ think about the fact that he owned a crossbow and a very fast horse. After all, the Costas were no different - no worse - than any of a score of bandits and brigands Zorro had captured and brought to justice.

Francisco Escalante rode out behind the prisoner cage. He grinned rakishly at everyone and waved toward the tavern. Gilberto glanced over. Victoria was standing in the doorway, biting her lip. Gilberto spared a little attention for a moment of sympathy. That was her family, there, riding out in uniform. She had one brother fighting for Spain and the other - everyone suspected - for Mexican independence. She didn't know if she would see either of them again.

Gilberto sighed. He _had _to stop thinking. It was all too complicated for this rainy day on the tavern porch. He dropped his eyes to the table and didn't look up again until the caravan was gone and the others were returning to their seats. Felipe gently tapped Gilberto's wrist and signed "Everything's okay." Wondering just how distressed he looked, Gilberto nodded and asked how the paper was going.

Diego pulled a folded sheet - printed only on one side - from inside his jacket. "Page one is finished, I just need to look it over for mistakes. Page two is almost half done."

"You're kidding," Father said, surprised

"Spacing out the stories as almost as bad as actually setting the type," Diego said, "but even that has gotten much better with practice. Of course, it helps that we had enough news this week to make nice, long columns."

"Nicholas is faster than either of us, now." Felipe added.

"You do give the poor boy lunch, don't you?" Father asked. Mostly, he was teasing.

"Neophytes are not allowed in the tavern by order of the Church," Diego reminded. "Victoria sends a plate out."

"Even Nicholas?" Don Alejandro was frowning now. "They cannot imagine you would allow anything improper! Or that that boy - "

Diego laid a hand on his arm. "Father. Given that the newspaper...sometimes publishes articles that might be...embarrassing or upsetting...Well, Nicholas is still rather young, and he is a Native - "

Father was getting more irritated rather than less. Quickly, Gilberto cut in. "It is better not to draw too much attention, Father, isn't it? Diego doesn't want to make him too much a target for anyone angry at the newspaper, especially since he isn't in a position to defend himself, and it isn't as though the law will - Don't look at me like that. Obviously, it is not fair!" And Father had so little patience with injustice. "But the current...social arrangements will not last forever. And think what he will be able to do, then, with the skills he is learning now."

Diego hastily added, "Usually, we stay in the office at lunch time, too."

"It can't be so bad," Father murmured, glancing at the tavern door.

Gilberto thought about the fact that Diego was currently blackmailing the alcalde into fixing the aqueduct. "Later, Father. When he's older he can decide if he wants to challenge the rules." Hopefully under another colonial administrator.

Consuela appeared, then, with four plates of puffy white dumplings, boiled carrots, and sour cream. "Russian food," she explained cheerfully. "Very tasty, but bland. I'll bring out a dish of hot sauce."

After a single bite, Diego was on his feet, intent on going to the kitchen right then and seeing if Senora Neilson would sell the recipe to the paper.

"I don't know what his hurry is," Father said. "It's not like he has any competition. No one else in town _has_ a newspaper.

Felipe set down his fork and said, "He wants them to feel welcome here. And he wants the pueblo to get to know them. He is kind of worried."

"Worried," Gilberto asked. "About what?"

Felipe shrugged. "People tell him things. Ask him things. They are not Catholic. They don't wear pretty colors. They didn't come into town for Nativity." He shrugged again.

Father snorted. "Of all the ignorant, backward...I swear, sometimes I'm actually embarrassed." He speared a dumpling. "It is very bland, though, I have to admit."

**Diego **

Victoria was at the counter chopping onions. She pointed her knife at the back door when Diego asked for Senora Neilson and said, "She went out to the kitchen garden. She'll be back in a moment." She sniffed and wiped her eyes on the back of her hand.

"Are you all right?" Diego asked.

"Of course," she said.

Slowly, he came over to stand beside the counter. "You're crying," he said after a moment.

She paused to point the knife dismissively at the onions and resumed chopping.

Diego waited. The onions were fairly pungent. His own eyes stung a bit. He wondered that she didn't back away to take a breath.

She slammed the knife flat against the cutting board and spun on him. "Why does he have to be such an idiot?" she demanded.

"Francisco," he guessed.

"Of course Francisco! He would have done it, if he could have! He would have hunted down Zorro and seen him hang just to gain a posting here."

"It's his duty," Diego pointed out reasonably. "He may not have joined the Colonial Army voluntarily but he has taken an oath. There are responsibilities."

"Responsibilities? What about his responsibility to his own parents? To his _people_? He'll either die for the King of Spain or slaughter hundreds of peons in his name and call that duty! And I - And I - " She sniffed and tried to wipe her eyes on her own shoulder.

Diego took a handkerchief from his pocket and gently cleared away the tears. "You cannot condemn him for it. He is your brother, and you love him. There is nothing wrong with that."

"And if he were stationed here, what would he do? Would he arrest me on Luis Ramone's orders?"

The question had been angry, and probably not directed at him. Diego answered it anyway. "He might," he said. "Everyone must do what he feels is right."

"And then fight Zorro when he came to rescue me," she murmured bitterly. "Or not, and be shot in the plaza for treason. I'm glad he's gone. I don't want to...I don't want to be there when it ends."

Diego closed his eyes. Less than a year after the twins had left for Madrid, Senora Escalante had been caught sneaking food and bandages to in injured rebel who was hiding in the pueblo. For giving aid and comfort to the enemy, she had been shot for treason in the plaza. No one talked about it.

Diego had not one comforting word to say. There was nothing you _could_ say to this.

Victoria took a deep breath. "I'm sorry, Diego. I know...I know the de le Vegas are monarchists."

Diego stepped closer and said very softly. "Which monarch? The one in exile? Or the French puppet? The last news we had...the capital is in chaos, the people hungry. Spain is divided and easy prey for Napoleon. The colonies have been left to fend for themselves..."

"Diego, this is treason," she whispered.

He shook his head. "I am only stating facts. I won't raise my hand against anyone. Political games and names on a map aren't worth killing for...Victoria, there is no saving the Empire. It's only a matter of time. If your brothers can stay out of trouble for another few years, they will be all right."

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "A few more years," she whispered. "And we will all be all right." Her voice shook a little. She was terribly sad.

"In the mean time...we must build our lives here. We have to stand on our own, not just our material prosperity - we must find our own _truth_, learn to govern ourselves, build a just community. I believe we can do that."

"Oh, Diego. You make it sound so ... possible! But Francisco - "

"Whatever he does, remember he is trying to do his best and forgive him," Diego said.

She scowled. "Even if he gets himself killed?"

"Even then," he whispered, remembering how he and Gilberto used to play with the younger boys. Francisco and Ramón Escalante - and Gilberto - were living such dangerous lives now. "Even then."

Senora Neilson came bustling in. Diego quickly stepped back from Victoria and returned to his original errand.

~tbc


	20. January 12, 1815

_Usual disclaimers apply_

**January 12, 1815 **

**Thursday **

Clearing the plates was as tedious as setting the type in the first place, even though it usually took a lot less time. The work required just enough attention to make conversation impossible. It was bit hard on the eyes and the tips of the fingers...

But Felipe and Nicholas were pleasant company. There was no rush. Diego always got a pitcher of fresh milk and a plate of little cookies. Today the shutters were open and the breeze was pleasingly warm.

Diego finished clearing the lead story - three children lost in Devil's Canyon and found by Zorro - and rolled his shoulders. The left one popped. "Say, Nicholas, did we save a copy for Father Benitez?" he was gone to some kind of conference at San Juan Capistrano and wouldn't be back until Saturday.

"Carlito came and got one, Don Diego," Nicolas answered. He leaned back from his own plate and stretched as well. "Uh," he began.

"Yes?"

"Well...I was wondering if I could read the original of the article you summarized for the science column. If you wouldn't mind?"

Diego laughed. "You're kidding. No less than three people have told me that it was the most boring 'news' imaginable."

Nicholas shrugged. "Well. They like it better when you write about weather or farming. Something they can use. Geology - they would only like it if it were about gold or jewels... But I think there must be more to it than that. Oh. It wasn't one of the English ones, was it?"

Diego grinned. "Spanish. I'll bring it in next week."

Felipe backed in through the door, then, his hands full with a heavy tray: a pitcher of milk, some cold sausage, and a plate of Senora Neilson's poppy seed cake. Diego was developing a fondness for Russian cooking.

Felipe set down the tray and scowled. "The sergeant has gone crazy."

Diego blinked at that. "Mendoza? What has he done?"

"He went to the Neilson farm. He says they are growing corn with magic!" The gestures were sharp and angry. Diego was a bit surprised. He had thought Felipe got along with Mendoza all right these days.

"Magic? That is certainly more...poetic than I would have expected of him. Their farm does look amazing, though, doesn't it? Well. If they manage to make a go of it, that is certainly is egg on the alcalde's face."

Felipe scowled.

"He sold them the land," Nicholas observed thoughtfully. "If they get their money's worth, that makes him look very good." Innocently, he popped little metal letters out of the frame and tossed them into their little wooden compartments. His hands were nearly a blur. Already, he was the fastest of them.

The door opened again, this time for Gilberto. He grinned at the sight of the cake and seized a slice.

Felipe pretended to try to snatch it back. "Get your own, lazy!" Diego took a slice of cake for himself and pretended not to pay them any attention. The familiarity between them was very good to see, but he wouldn't embarrass them by pointing it out.

"I was working all morning," Gilberto protested. He was a good deal taller than Felipe. The scene reminded Diego of a kitten pestering a watchdog. Felipe gave up and moved the tray with the rest of the food out of Gilberto's reach.

"How are things at the house," Diego asked.

"Dry enough," Gilberto shrugged. "I think father is done moving the interior walls around, finally. Maybe it will be ready when the paneling arrives."

"Hmmm." Diego nodded. "And how was Father?"

"Reasonable," Gilberto answered. He gave Diego a hard look. Diego sighed.

Last night, Father had discovered that Dulcinea was carrying. The storm that had followed still had both his sons wincing. Father had very definite plans for his prize mare, and they did not include an accident with an inferior stallion that jumped the fence.

Don Alejandro's rage had fallen mostly on Old Juan, and _oh_, the things he had said! Said? At one point, he had seemed almost ready to strike him. Diego could still scarcely credit it: Juan, who had worked for the de le Vegas since he was Felipe's age and had been a model of competence and loyalty for every one of those years.

It wasn't like Father to go so far. Or to be so unjust. True, he had a temper and everyone knew it, but these things happened. Even if it had been Juan's fault, there was nothing to be gained by making a scene. Abusing the staff - it just wasn't like him.

None of that ugly display had been like him.

Of course, Diego and Gilberto's discomfort with the whole thing was only compounded by the fact that they had concealed Toronado among the mares right after the earthquake. Dulcinea shouldn't have been ripe then, but...these things were not quite as exact as one might hope. Very likely Juan had been getting blamed for the consequences of their subterfuge.

It had taken nearly an hour for Father's temper to die down. When it did, he apologized to everyone, Juan first of all. A headache, he'd said, not any reasoned response. It was unfair, "And I beg your pardon."

Juan had looked disappointed, a trick he had used very effectively on Gilberto when the boys were growing up. Diego had never seen it turned on his Father before... At least Father had borne the unspoken censure gracefully.

But the entire episode was worrying. Diego stepped closer to 'Berto and lowered his voice. "Do you think something is bothering him?"

"Nothing is going on," Gilberto whispered back. That was true. The weather was good. There was plenty of water, but no flooding. Crops were starting to come in, so the farmers were busy with work - certainly too busy for scandalous rumors or murderous feuds. Even the alcalde didn't seem to be up to anything at the moment.

"He hasn't said _anything_?" Diego pressed.

Gilberto shook his head reluctantly and grimaced slightly. Zorro.

"No," Diego breathed. "He cannot suspect _that_."

He huffed a breath. "It would certainly upset him."

"No. And stop thinking it."

Gilberto looked mulish and about to argue, but Diego nudged him and glanced at Nicholas, diligently bent over the table and plucking type neatly out of the plate. Gilberto stepped back and began to complain loudly about the dull geology article in the previous day's paper.

**Felipe **

The tavern was unusually busy for a Thursday. A troop of lancers had just come in from patrol. There was a military recruiter expected soon, and a few of the local boys had come in to wait to talk to him. A group of vaqueros were passing through, taking some breeding stock from Lower California up to Mission San Juan Bautista. Senorita Amanda was having lunch with her father. A group of grandmothers who lived in the pueblo sat at a back table doing embroidery (Felipe had heard Victoria gave them free lemonade to come in once a week so that their genteel dignity would help safeguard the tavern's reputation.)

Despite the crowd, a pitcher of lemonade and a set of glasses appeared as soon as the de le Vegas sat down. Don Alejandro set his glass aside and produced a small copy of the house plans. "Diego, are you sure about this?"

"Well, I am sure that I would _like_ it. And I don't see the harm in building it. But if you object - "

"But a _laboratory_?"

"It has been in the plans since the beginning. And it is hardly like having a printing press in the house."

"Have you considered that it might be worse? Think what people do in laboratories."

Gilberto patted his father's shoulder. "It isn't as though he'll be using it to invent explosives. You worry too much."

Felipe had to press his hand over his mouth and swallow hard to keep from squirting lemonade out his nose.

Don Alejandro sighed and rubbed his forehead. He started to answer, but frowned and turned to glance at the center of the room, where most of the smaller conversations had faded away in favor of some story Mendoza was telling. Actually that wasn't all that unusual, but this time Don Alejandro was frowning. And so were the twins.

"Something mysterious going on out there," Mendoza was staying.

Very slowly, Don Alejandro pushed back his chair and stood up. "Mysterious? What could possibly be mysterious, Sergeant? It's a farm. I see farms every day."

"That farm was a pile of rocks four months ago!" Mendoza protested, turning to face him.

"So? Exactly what is it that you're trying to say, Sergeant?"

He drew himself up. "They have done something impossible. They are not like us."

"Well, they certainly make fewer nasty insinuations than _you_ do!"

The entire room was silent now. No one was even eating. Felipe found himself holding his breath and hoping the sergeant would back down.

He didn't. "I beg your pardon," he said indignantly. "At least _I_ go to church, Don Alejandro."

"The Nielsons don't go to _your_ church - "

"It's not natural, what they can do - "

They were shouting over each other now. Felipe was afraid they would come to blows. Diego gave Gilberto a sharp look and rose slowly.

"Not natural? So it's - what? Black magic? There is no such _thing_! Stop talking superstitious nonsense. "

The room rippled with surprise. It wasn't unheard of for Don Alejandro to exchange heated words with someone. It had certainly happened before. But for a pillar of the community to directly contradict a basic teaching of the Church, in public, that was new and shocking.

Mendoza gaped. "But - Of course there is."

"So what shall we do about it then? Turn the Neilsons over to the Inquisition? We don't have that nonsense here in California. Do you want it? Haven't we killed enough Spaniards and Natives? Shall we start hunting for witches among our neighbors? The Russians first, then the French and the Americans?"

Mendoza just gaped. Don Alejandro shook his head disgustedly and heaved a sigh. He shot an odd glance at Diego and returned heavily to the table.

The silence in the room continued. Felipe glanced fleeting at Don Alejandro's face. He couldn't help thinking of odd things the twins had said... and some things Diego had carefully _not_ said to Father Benitez. He had somehow assumed that the twins came by their odd ideas from something they'd been exposed to in the capital. Now Felipe found himself wondering about the things their Father might not be saying.

Victoria came out from the kitchen with a tray of food. She walked slowly and determinedly over to the de le Vegas and set down plates of lunch, even though they had not had time to order and other people had been waiting longer. "Consuela," she called clearly into the quiet room, "Can you bring over another pitcher of lemonade?"

As she turned away, conversation slowly resumed in the room. It was quieter now, and uncomfortable.

Don Alejandro gripped the table with both hands and whispered something to Diego, who looked up in surprise. "Chilly? No, I wouldn't say so. Why?"

Don Alejandro gripped the table harder and closed his eyes. "I am freezing," he said.

Diego glanced at Gilberto, who sat, transfixed, on the other side of the table. "Father," Diego said carefully, "Can you sit a horse?"

He hesitated. "No...n-no."

Calmly, Diego reached across and felt his father's forehead. "Gilberto, would you go ask Victoria for a room? Felipe, run and fetch the doctor."

Felipe lifted his hands to ask why - and realized with growing horror what it must be. Malaria. He leaped up and ran for the door, praying all the way.

Doctor Hernandez lived in town and he was home, but he didn't sign, and at the sight of Felipe he called for his bag and asked if it was Diego.

Oh. Well, damn. Felipe shook his head. His sign for Don Alejandro was met with a blank look so he pantomimed an old man. The doctor got it on the second try. As soon as his wife pushed his bag into his hand he was waving at Felipe to lead the way.

When they got to the tavern, Diego and Gilberto were settling their father in one of Victoria's guest rooms upstairs. In the few minutes Felipe had been gone Don Alejandro had greatly deteriorated. He was white and shaking and he looked very old.

Diego, impossibly calm, looked up from tucking the blankets around him and said, "It seems to be malaria."

"Well, of course it is malaria," the doctor snapped. He motioned the twins to join him in the hallway and firmly shut the door. "Tell me again how much of the powder you have."

Diego swayed slightly. Gilberto said, "It was destroyed in the earthquake."

Dr. Hernandez looked very old and tired himself. He said heavily, "I have nothing. I used the last of it a month ago."

For a moment the twins seemed to be made of ice. Neither of them moved or breathed. Then Diego said, "Felipe, please go the house and fetch the tincture. You know where I keep it."

Dr. Hernandez shook his head. "Tincture is practically useless."

"'Practically useless' is better than nothing, which is our alternative. Felipe, hurry."

Felipe ran down stairs. He ran to Sunshine. He galloped Sunshine home. Pepe, meeting him in front of the barn, shouted questions at Felipe's back as he ran to the house. If he had time to explain, Felipe would have demanded a fresh horse, but he didn't have time to answer the questions that would surely require. He just ran.

**Victoria**

Victoria was filling plates when Gilberto burst into the kitchen. "We need a room," he announced. "Father is ill."

"He can't be," she protested. "Just five minutes ago - "

"I do not have time for you to dither. Father is ill. We need a room now." He spun on his heel and swept out, leaving Victoria to set down the plate and follow. And she did, of course. Don Alejandro could not possibly be sick. He was just arguing with Mendoza -

But surely if something were wrong with Diego -

The de le Vegas had abandoned their table. Diego and his father were halfway across the dining room and it was clear that Don Alejandro was leaning on his son, not the other way around. Even as her surprise turned to worry, Don Alejandro sagged and started to fall. Gilberto - and when did he ever move so quickly? - swept up beside them and propped up his father's weight.

Victoria hurried ahead of them. Her best room was taken...but the bed was large there anyway. It was easier to tend the ill in a smaller bed. The room at the back was not very bright, and the two beds were not very wide. And it would be quiet, since it was furthest from the stairs and the noise of the dining room.

Gilberto was very nearly carrying his father by the time they reached the top of the stairs. Don Alejandro seemed almost small besides his tall sons. He looked old, and he was pale and shaking.

"Shall I send someone for the doctor?" she asked, appalled at how quickly things had gotten so bad.

"Felipe has already gone, thank you," Diego answered.

Victoria hesitated in the hallway, unwilling to simply walk away, unable to do anything to help. Well. They would need blankets, wouldn't they? And water and flannels? And - there might be a nightshirt in the chest of old clothes. She had never thrown anything away after Papa left...

When she was returning with a pitcher in one hand and a stack of towels in the other, she passed Dr. Hernandez coming down the stairs. "You aren't leaving?" she asked.

"I'll be back later. Right now there just isn't much I can do." He shook his head. "There is a course to this illness. We will have to see it through."

She paused only a moment to glance after him and then hurried up the stairs. She found Don Alejandro in bed and shivering. Diego was beside the bed, fussing helplessly, while Gilberto stood by the window with his arms folded and his jaw set. She put down her load on the dresser and hurried back out to retrieve the blankets.

The linen cabinet was in her own room. She selected three thick blankets that were not so large they would tangle and bind him...

As she stepped back into the hall, Gilberto came charging out of his father's room. Diego was right behind him, and he caught Gilberto's arm and hauled him around. "No!" He lowered his voice, "What do you think you can do?"

"The missions are better provisioned than the pueblos - "

Diego shook his head angrily. "San Gabriel has none," he said.

"San Fernando - "

"Is unlikely to have a supply, is unlikely to give it to you if they did, and is more than twenty miles away." Diego was speaking softly, even though he was bristling with anger.

Scowling, Gilberto made a strange, circular motion between them. "I have a horse that could do it."

"And if you rode him to death you still would not be in time."

Gilberto tilted his head back and glared at the ceiling. "This could go on for days," he ground out.

"It could. But a two-day wait to administer _cinchona_? So much damage will be done by then, it might well be pointless anyway..."

"Oh, you _don't _believe that."

"I believe you cannot save us this time - "

Gilberto gasped at that. He looked ready to begin shouting. He ground his teeth for a moment. "I have to do something! I cannot - How could I face it, knowing I didn't even try?"

Diego folded his arms impatiently. "What you cannot face is that he may die. There is nothing you can do. There is no _cinchona_ to find. And the truth is, he may die."

Gilberto rubbed his palm across his eyes.

"Your place is with him," Diego pressed.

With a stiff, angry walk, Gilberto shoved past him and returned to the sickroom. Diego sighed and leaned sadly against the wall. Torn between embarrassment and sympathy, Victoria lowered her gaze as she shuffled past him. She clutched her bundle of blankets to her chest and pretended she was somewhere else entirely. In the room, Gilberto sat glumly on the second bed, his elbows on his knees and his eyes on the floor. Victoria snuck a single glance at the miserable figure under the covers, said a silent prayer, and hurried back out.

In the hall Diego was still leaning against the wall. His head was tilted back and his hands were balled into fists. He took a fast, deep breath and then another. When his eyes met Victoria's he winced slightly and motioned her closer.

Victoria realized her palms were sweating. She wiped them on her skirt. She had no idea what to say.

Diego took another breath. "I need you discretion. Gilberto and Felipe - "

She nodded. "They have enough to worry about." She bit her lip and ventured, "Cold water?"

Diego nodded.

He would not want to be seen like this. She took his hand and drew him back down the hall into her room. Her chair was rather low, and it canted his knees up a bit when he sat. She patted his shoulder. "Stay here. I'll just be a minute."

He glanced around and stiffened, his eyes falling on the mending basket and her little book of poems on the table beside him. "This is your bedroom." He sounded scandalized, and she had to smile just a little.

"I'm quite sure my virtue is safe today. Now sit still."

She fetched the water from the plaza: the little she knew was that it must be cold. She also grabbed the last of the clean towels. She hurried as fast as she could, but the simple little task seemed to take forever and she was afraid of what she would find when she got back upstairs.

Diego had taken off his jacket and risen to stand beside the open window. He was very pale, even his lips.

"Should...should I send for the doctor?" she asked fearfully.

Diego shook his head. "This isn't even bad. Please, the water..."

She drew the chair over and set the bucket on it in front of him. Diego paused for just a moment, meeting her eyes. With a small, sad smile, he plunged his face into the bucket. He splashed out two seconds later, scattering cold drops. She passed him the towel. He buried his face in it and leaned against the wall. For a moment Victoria feared there had been no change, but very quickly it was clear that the worst of his distress had passed and he was breathing more normally.

Slowly, Diego folded the towel and laid it over the back of the chair. He rolled down his cuffs. He put his jacket back on. His bangs were still damp, but he wasn't so frighteningly white anymore. Silently, Victoria went to the table and handed him her comb.

"Thank you," he said softly.

She wanted to hug him. She wanted to weep. She wanted to run away. She did none of that. "Is there anything we can do for your father?" she asked.

"Felipe has gone to fetch some medicine that may help a little. If we can keep the fever down and keep him from vomiting the medicine..." Diego shook his head. "We can pray."

"He's a strong man..." She wanted the words to be reassuring. She wanted them to be true.

Diego looked back at her for a long moment. He wanted the words to be true, too. He nodded, handed her back her comb, and went to the door. He paused before opening it. "Thank you, Victoria." And then he was gone.

Victoria took the towel and wiped up a stray drop of water from the windowsill.

**Gilberto**

Under the bedclothes Father was curled up tightly and shivering. Gilberto took another blanket from the bundle Victoria had just delivered and added it to the pile. He checked his pocket watch. Another half hour and they would be stripping off the blankets trying to bring down the fever. He would much rather be doing this at home, with Father in his own bed at least. And Maria, who had helped with this many times before.

Gilberto sat down on the edge of the bed. "Father?" he asked softly. "Are you with us?"

Father clutched the blanket closer to his cheek and opened his eyes a little. "'Berto." His eyes were alert. Gilberto felt relieved at that, though it was completely unwarranted. "'Berto, where is Diego?"

"Close," Gilberto glanced at the door. "I can get him."

"You need to look after your brother..."

Berto swallowed. "Yes, Papa." Through the thick pads of blanket, he squeezed his father's arm. "Diego is fine. Don't worry about that now, all right?"

"I always thought he would be looking after you. I counted on that..."

"He does look after me - " He forced himself to smile. "He is strong, Papa. Like you."

"But you inherited all my faults..." the words were very quiet, but Gilberto shuddered inwardly at the terrible force of them. "My poor 'Berto..."

He managed, somehow, to smile. "We had this talk last fall, Papa." He wondered if the words would hurt less if Father was in a better position to judge the truth of them. But there was no chance of that. The lies they told for Zorro changed the appearance of everything. Father's disappointment was real enough - but not what he was disappointed in Gilberto _for_.

Would Father be proud if he knew about Zorro? Or would he only despair at the sheer desperation of it?

"I had your mother. She made it bearable to be...conventional. My best friend, and so kind ...but what are we going to do with you, Gilberto? You do not fit. Men are not forgiving, neither..." His eyes widened. "Neither is God. The Neilsons - " he tried to sit up. "I saw things, in South America. Terrible things people did because they saw the Devil everywhere - "

Gilberto pressed him back into the pillows. "It will come to nothing, Father. The people here are reasonable and fair."

"Mendoza - "

"Can be a bit of an idiot. But he is harmless. Please. Relax, Father. It will be all right." Where was Diego, curse it? Father wouldn't say these things if they weren't alone.

Maybe.

Was he delirious already? "Try to rest, Father. Please. You'll need your strength later."

That earned him a confused frown. "Why?" And then, "What is going on? Something is wrong..."

"Yes, Papa. You are ill." Fearfully, Gilbert laid the back of his hand against the weathered cheek. So warm. Already. He cleared his throat. "You need to rest now."

Father shivered and burrowed deeper into the covers. Gilberto closed his eyes.

He had been sitting in silence for several minutes when the door opened and Diego slipped in. Gilberto glanced up and -

He very nearly cursed aloud. Diego's collar was damp, and the tips of his bangs. He'd had an episode. Of course he had. This was too much for him. Gilberto balled his fists so tightly that his fingernails dug into his palms. "You should go home," he whispered when he could keep his voice steady. "Felipe and I can manage. Perhaps you could send Maria - "

Diego huffed at him and sat firmly in the little straight-backed chair by the window.

It was all Gilberto could do to keep silent. He could lose both of them tonight. He could. Diego was better, but he wasn't _well_. And Father - even with proper treatment, malaria so often killed. It was unbearable. He jumped to his feet and retreated - except there was no place to go in the little room. He leaned against the closed door and ground his teeth, desperately trying to contain the terror that seemed to pour into him from all sides.

Silently, Diego came up behind him and laid a hand on his shoulder. "Ah, 'Berto." He sighed. "I was wrong, what I said before. Go. Wherever you need to go..."

Gilberto sagged against the door. A pair of tears escaped. He tried three times to speak, but every time he parted his teeth a sob tried to escape.

"I know," Diego murmured. "I know."

"I cannot leave you," he managed at last.

"I know."

"I cannot stand this."

A whisper in his ear. "You can."

A single sob slipped out. "I can't. I am not so brave. Dear God, I would rather be shot at!" Anything but this.

"Sh. Sh. I know. You are so very good at getting shot at." A chuckle in his ear, Diego's warm breath in his hair. "But it is not your courage that will see you through tonight."

"Courage!" What irony. Courage? He had none. The great folk hero was a coward. Afraid of earthquakes. Afraid for his family. Afraid of failing. Afraid of looking a fool. Afraid of marriage. Afraid of being found out. Afraid, afraid.

"It is your love and loyalty that will get you through. That has always been your strength. Your great strength."

Gilberto found a handkerchief was being pushed into his hand. He wiped his eyes. He cleared his throat. "You have too much faith in me," he complained.

"I have _every_ faith in you."

Gilberto wiped his eyes again. "You will do as I tell you. I want a promise. If I tell you to rest - "

"I will be fine. I wouldn't do that to you."

"As though you have a choice! But you _will _be careful."

Gilberto took a couple of deep breaths and turned around. Father still curled under the blankets, oblivious to the quiet drama by the door. He checked his watch. "Felipe should be back soon."

Diego sighed. "If his stomach is quiet, we can start dosing him as soon as the chills pass off..."

Gilberto shook his head. "Small chance of that. Ah. We'll need a basin. I'll get it." He started for the door, but Diego touched his arm.

When Gilberto turned to look, Diego just calmly met his eyes. Diego had every faith in him. Gilberto would not let him be wrong.

**Felipe**

Victoria directed him to a room upstairs - not her best room, but quiet and out of the way. Felipe approved. He found Don Alejandro bedded down with a daunting heap of blankets in one of the narrow beds, while the twins sat unhappily on the other. Diego had slipped his boots off and sat tailor-style with his back against the wall. Gilberto sat stiffly, with his feet flat on the floor.

Felipe set two bottles of tincture on the tiny table between the beds (they no longer kept precious supplies in a single container) and set the two medical books on the bed between Diego and Gilberto.

"What now?" he asked worriedly.

Gilberto sighed. "All that racing around...but there is nothing to be done just now."

Diego selected one of the books and opened it. He didn't need to check the index. "You didn't get to eat anything," he said. "Why don't you go down stairs and get some lunch. You'll be glad you did, later."

Felipe shook his head.

Gilberto frowned. "You haven't eaten, either. Why don't you go with him?"

"I'm not - "

"Today is not the day to start breaking the rules. Small, regular meals."

Diego sighed, set the book aside, and slid on his boots. "Lunch," he surrendered.

Z

The tavern was still fairly crowded. Everyone turned to look as they came down. "Ah, the pleasure of living in a small town," Diego whispered. He walked calmly through main room and through the curtain to the kitchen.

Victoria set down the spoon she was holding and wiped her hands on her apron. "Diego? What do you need?"

Diego made a face. "Gilberto is completely unreasonable. He has ordered me to eat..."

She bustled them onto the bench by the battered table and swiftly produced bowls of soup and a plate of bread. Senora Neilson poured two glasses of lemonade. After she set them down, she hesitated.

Diego looked up. "Yes?"

Her voice was very soft and her accent was impossible to follow, but whatever she said, Diego nodded and thanked her. Felipe taped Diego's arm inquiringly.

"She is taking something up for Gilberto. Not that he'll eat it." He pulled out his watch. He sighed. "Don't hurry. We'll have plenty to do later." Felipe thought about how predictable and pitiless malaria was. Yes, there would be plenty to do.

Despite what he'd said, Diego ate fairly quickly and went back upstairs. Felipe trailed after him. Gilberto met them in the upstairs hallway and shut the door to his father's room. "We need to talk," he said.

Diego nodded. Felipe moved in closer, guessing they would be talking softly.

Gilberto took a deep breath. "Senora Neilson is with him. They have malaria in Siberia." He paused, looking openly uncertain. "They do not have _cinchona." _

Diego was horrified. "How do they treat it?"

"With prayer, mostly. But. She knows how to stop the vomiting. And she can bring down the fever a bit. Diego, she has most of her simples kit with her. We have to decide..."

"What do you suppose Dr. Hernandez will say?" Diego replied thoughtfully.

"He will be against it. He is very much against...amateurs. He has no interest in folk remedies. As it is, we have to pretend you aren't taking advice from Father Benitez."

"That's not so much pretense as polite inattention," Diego paused, pressing his lips together. "If it would mean he could take the tincture hours earlier - hours - that might make a big difference."

Gilberto folded his arms and leaned closer. "Or it might make no difference. Or her remedy might react badly with the _cinchona_. Or it might be dangerous itself. She wants to be alone with him for an hour. And I don't - My Russian isn't up to the subtleties of a medical discussion. Diego, I don't know what to do."

Felipe nudged Diego in the arm. "She was right about cold water. Russians are smart."

Diego put an arm around Felipe's shoulders. "That is an excellent point. I think we can assume that Senora Neilson can do what she says she can do. As for how it will react with the other..."

Gilberto stared at the floor. "_Cinchona_ is dangerous. Malaria is worse."

"I think so, too," Diego said.

"All right then," Gilberto cracked the door open and slipped inside. A few moments later Senora Neilson came out and hurried downstairs.

Nervous about what he would find, Felipe followed Diego into the sickroom. Most of the blankets had been pulled back and Don Alejandro shifted restlessly. His eyes were closed, but he wasn't relaxed.

Diego sat on the edge of the bed. He laid a hand on Don Alejandro's forehead. "Hot," he said resignedly. "How are you feeling, Father?"

His eyes opened, but didn't focus. "Diego?"

"That's right, Father."

"Diego, my son, Diego." He reached out clumsily, and Diego took his hand. "You shouldn't be here. Your mother knows better...you boys ... shouldn't see this..."

"Oh, God," Gilberto muttered, dropping heavily onto the rooms only chair. "Already."

"It's all right, Father. We're all grown up now."

Don Alejandro groaned.

"'Berto, here. Help him sit up. Felipe, hand me that basin."

It got bad after that. Felipe had read about muttering delirium, of course. The reality was worse. He couldn't make out most of the words, but his tone was alternately urgent and despairing. Diego and Gilberto took turns holding his hand and trying to comfort him. As the fever got higher, Gilberto stripped back the covers and began wiping him down with cold, damp flannels.

It was less than an hour when Senora Neilson returned with a tray. It felt like much longer. The tray contained a covered bowl that smelled of something sharp...two little bottles...a handful of reeds...a pile of rags. She shoed them out.

Gilberto hesitated. "Oksana Federovna...he's a large man. You may need help." He added something in Russian, and her answer was the same. Gilberto frowned and followed them down the stairs.

At the halfway point, Diego glanced back and murmured, "What did she say?"

"That it will be messy and undignified, and his sons shouldn't see."

Lunch was over, and the dining room only held Victoria and Consuela cleaning up. The women glanced at them pityingly and then bent again to their work.

"We know you are closing for siesta..." Diego began, as he reached the bottom of the stairs.

"Of course you are welcome to wait," Victoria said quickly. "Here, sit down." She laid aside her washrag and fetched a bottle of wine and glasses from behind the bar. "Do you think Senora Neilson can help?"

"Well, as Father has pointed out, she expands our knowledge base by an entire continent.," Diego said, trying to smile.

"He was talking about knitting at the time," Gilberto said.

Victoria swatted him gently on the back of his head. "A negative outlook won't help anything." She set a full glass down in front of him. "You must have faith."

"Oh, yes." Gilberto pressed his lips together. "Everything always works out for the best. Why would I worry?"

Diego tapped him once on the back of his hand and shook his head. Gilberto obediently subsided.

Consuela kept wiping down tables and carrying away dishes. Victoria sat down across from Diego, who glanced at her and then away. "I do appreciate how kind - " he began, very formally

She pretended to laugh. "Kindness? I'm completely indebted to your family. The last time I broke out of the hoosegow I ran straight to your house. Come to think of it, the first time, too!"

"You were never broken out," Gilberto said, carefully not smiling. "The charges were dropped for lack of evidence."

"My goodness, you're right. How forgetful of me." She folded her hands. "Your father was with me, the first time."

Diego shook his head. "Don't start telling stories. He's not dead yet."

"I wasn't - I mean - Ah. Jose Macias was in town yesterday. He says the work crew is ripping out the footings on the aqueduct."

"Hmf," Gilberto snorted. Very quietly he said, "We shouldn't be talking about that, either. What with Diego blackmailing the alcalde into fixing it and all..."

Victoria gasped. "You're kidding!"

"Sh." Diego gave Gilberto a dirty look. "No."

"Ah...!"

Diego rolled his eyes. "It is a secret, obviously."

"Oh, of course!" she agreed, looking at Diego with absolute delight.

"It's best if we pay it no special attention." Diego was still glaring at Gilberto.

"Yes, I can see that...he must be very angry at you."

"We assume so," Gilberto said. "There are...assurances in place. But he's rarely in town with just Felipe any more."

"Oh," she said thoughtfully.

Felipe tapped her shoulder. "Talk about cattle," he said. "That's always safe."

~tbc


	21. January 13, 1815

_The good news is that I should have all of STF 9 posted before my company arrives for the holiday and puts a halt to everything. The bad news is that I've been woking on STF 10 for a month and I have only 4 pages. (Worse, they are 4 pages of flashback and introspection). Ah, well. _

**January 13, 1815**

**Diego **

The little room was warm and a bit close, but it was raining outside so the windows were shut tightly. Diego sat perpendicular on the narrow bed, his back braced by the wall and Felipe curled up against his hip. It was very late, and it was all he could do to stay awake, but Diego was determined not to leave Gilberto alone with their father.

They had managed to give him the first dose of _cinchona_ - it had taken nearly an hour to get him to sip down the tincture mixed in a glass of water. That was hours ago, and they didn't dare risk more yet. Diego had made a very careful study of just how dangerous a poison that was.

The fever was not as high as it might have been, but the delirium was still quite bad. Off and on Father fought battles long over and had quarrels with the dead. Diego wouldn't leave Gilberto to listen to this and worry alone. Even now, Father was calling for Alfonzo. Diego could not imagine the loss. Father had buried his brother in Panama thirty years ago. How had he survived it? How did he rise every morning only one instead of two? In his place - No, Diego could not imagine it. It would be terrible, life without Gilberto. He could not imagine how lonely Father must be...

He cried out again and Gilberto answered him with some bland reassurance that Father probably couldn't hear. Diego couldn't bear it any more. "I'll take a turn," he said.

For a long moment, Gilberto didn't answer. Then he said, "He's sweating."

Some of Diego's exhaustion retreated. He produced his watch and thrust it into the light from the lamp. A quarter of one in the morning. They had made it. "Oh, thank God," he muttered.

"We're through the worst of it," Gilberto whispered. "If the _cinchona_ has any impact, the next round will be much lighter. And we have some time..."

Diego stiffly slid free of Felipe. "First thing's first," he whispered. "We need to get another dose in him and let him rest."

"I'll do it. You go next door and get some sleep."

Diego sighed. "_No_."

"I can manage this part, you might remember. We only had the nurse during the day, and it was weeks you were - "

"Yes, thank you, I do remember." He did remembered long nights when his entire body ached like his bones were breaking and the terrible weight in his chest made even breathing exhausting. 'Berto's hands had always been gentle and his voice had always been quiet. Surely, even Gilberto had been astonished to find he could be so patient and cheerful.

Softly, softly, his voice like a stone, Gilberto said, "Don't argue with me, Diego."

The door eased open and a new light made the shadows jump and dance crazily. Diego and Gilberto both jumped as well, although Diego, at least, didn't have a specific fear in mind when he spun and reached for a sword he wasn't wearing.

It was only Senora Neilson, a candle in one hand and a cup in the other. She included Diego in her nod of greeting but spoke directly to Gilberto in a long splash and ripple of whispered Russian. Gilberto asked several questions, which she answered tiredly.

Exhausted, Diego sank onto the other bed. Felipe had stretched out in his sleep, so there was only room on the edge. The air was stiflingly hot and still. Russian words slithered around him. Russian. What had Diego been thinking, to study English? How absolutely useless. Bad enough his illness hobbled him so often, but to be left out because he had studied the wrong language...

The thoughts chased themselves in an odd circle until they were interrupted by a hand on his shoulder. He looked up - and flinched at the light from Senora Neilson's tiny candle. "Don Diego. Come. It is enough."

Diego stumbled to his feet and allowed himself to be led to the empty room next door. The air was cooler, and the little moonlight coming in the window was only soothing rather than painful.

Z

He woke at dawn worried about Father and distinctly aware that he didn't have enough of his heart medicine to make it past noon. He'd have to go home before lunch. Or send Felipe. Perhaps Dr. Hernandez would have something -

He was thinking too slowly. Diego sat up and ran his fingers through his hair, trying to wake up.

When he rose he realized he had left his shoes in the other room. In stocking feet he slipped back into the hall.

Gilberto was asleep on the second bed and Felipe sat in the chair, which had been moved next to the bed. He motioned Diego to be quiet. "We are...not too bad. We started the second dose of the _cinchona_. It was probably too soon." He made a face. He pointed to a tumbler of water, half empty. "His pulse is very slow." _How convenient that we have a sign for that, _Diego thought bitterly. But that was the great worry, after all. The tincture they had had a strong effect on the heart, but it simply was not as effective for malaria as infusion. "No more now. Resting. No fever."

"Did he pass water?"

Felipe pointed to the honeybucket in the corner. It wasn't empty. Diego nearly cheered aloud.

Felipe fixed him with a stern look and shoed him out. Diego took the bucket - and, after a moment's thought, his shoes - with him.

Z

The cup of hot tea - whatever kind of tea it was - went a long way toward clearing his head. Victoria was very pleased to hear that Father was doing well. When she went off to fetch his breakfast, though, Senor Estevez, the storekeeper, and his friend Senor Friez came in. Diego had taken a large table - there was no polite way to send them away when they paused at his shoulder. He motioned them to sit down.

They expressed their sympathy and concern for Don Alejandro. Diego managed not to scowl and told them everything would be fine in a few days. Sergeant Mendoza came in at the same time as Jose Rivas, and Diego motioned them over eagerly. They were both better company than Estevez and they were poor and unimportant, which meant (hopefully) Diego's better-heeled company would have reason not to linger.

Rivas, naturally, began to tell everyone (again) about how the newspaper saved his farm from bandits. That was embarrassing and nearly enough to make him regret inviting them to sit down. Diego quickly changed the subject to the recent lack of bandits and trouble makers, which in turn shifted the subject to Zorro. This was much less odious. By the time Victoria appeared with a tray of food the conversation was practically pleasant.

Then Senora Neilson crossed to the stairs with a covered tray and Senor Friez narrowed his eyes and turned to Mendoza. "I hear you've been out to the new farm."

Mendoza frowned. "Strangest thing I've ever seen," he said unhappily.

Diego swallowed dryly. "Yes. Corn. Quite a conundrum, I agree." That came out more harshly then he'd intended, but Diego was at the end of his patience.

Mendoza bristled. "Don Diego, they are very _strange_! I don't understand how you can allow her to help with your father. She might be doing...anything."

Diego rolled his eyes. "Ah, yes. The rumor mill. I can't imagine why I bothered to start a newspaper."

"Don Alejandro is... ill?" Rivas asked, surprised.

Diego had a sudden insight as to why Felipe seemed to loathe talking about Diego's own illness. "Reoccurring malaria. But he is doing very well." Diego hoped that was true. "Senora Neilson is helping us, natural enough since she was working here at the tavern. I expect her husband will be in to take her and Anton home today."

"Strange that they have only the one child," Mendoza muttered.

Diego was too stunned to answer. Mendoza was shocked and horrified by everything they _did_ - but by their existence? Every fact - no matter how meaningless - was proof of some oddity.

"Less strange than twins," Diego snapped. "Two children at one birth? That can't be natural!"

Mendoza just looked puzzled and hurt by that response. Diego wanted to hit him. He leaned back in the chair and took a tired breath. He found he needed another.

"I don't understand what Russians are doing here at all?" Friez said. "Why aren't they with their own people?"

Carefully, Diego stood up. He set enough money on the table to pay for everyone's breakfast. "Excuse me," he said softly. "It was a long night. I should go check on Father."

He was halfway to the stairs when he heard Rivas ask softly, "Have you ever seen a witch?"

"I don't think so," Mendoza answered. "What do they look like?"

Friez said, "I don't know. But don't they dress all in black?"

_It's like a madness_, Diego thought, pausing halfway up to get his breath. _And no amount of sense makes a bit of difference. Felipe had better bring back Zorro's clothing when he goes home for my medicine. _

**Alejandro **

He was embarrassingly weak. Surely, wrestling down a calf was easier than taking the two steps from the bed to the chair. His joints ached and his limbs were as heavy as lead. His mind was clear, though that might not be a blessing: he was perfectly aware of how miserable and pathetic he was at the moment. He was also aware of the pityingly looks Felipe was gave him as he helped him clean up and change into a fresh nightshirt.

Even that simple activity seemed to take forever and left him exhausted. Alejandro let himself slouch in the chair and rest while Felipe silently and competently changed the sheets.

He noticed (perhaps he wasn't as alert as he had thought) that Gilberto was asleep only a couple of feet away in the other bed. His hair stood out in every direction and he was drooling a little. It had been a very long time, Alejandro realized, since he had seen his son so unguarded. Gilberto could be charming and amusing or arrogant and horribly cutting. And occasionally he could be strangely disinterested in what was going on around him. But always, always, since the twins had come home, he was carefully armored and in command of himself. He was never completely open or relaxed.

His memories of Gilberto as a child...the boy had been prideful and competitive, but also affectionate and eager to please. He had desperately tried to outshine his brother - racing, climbing, schoolwork, riding, - but he had almost always lost to taller, smarter, friendlier Diego. He had been so much in Diego's shadow, and, oh, those boys had quarreled endlessly. I was a wonder they hadn't grown up to hate each other. But no. Diego had always adored Gilberto, and eventually Gilberto had grown to admire Diego as much as everyone else did.

Diego's illness had hit him so hard. Gilberto was trying his best to be brave and strong, to take up some of his brother's duties and comfort the rest of the family and give Diego the support he needed. But Gilberto was not _quite _equal to the tasks and not _quite_ strong enough to endure the strain and grief. He concealed it as well as he could with charm or humor or arrogance, and fell back on obedience and propriety and the appearance of humility when all else failed.

This morning, in the grey light, Gilberto had no layers of concealment. He looked defenseless and unprepared, sleeping soundly even while Felipe moved around the room. Alejandro stared for a long time, wondering if there were anything at all he could say to reach his one.

Felipe prodded Alejandro in the arm and pointed toward the bed. _Ah. Already_. Alejandro nodded and allowed himself to be hefted up and shifted back into the bed. _Absurd_, he thought dimly, _the relief of not having to sit up_. His eyes drifted shut.

When he opened them a moment later Senora Neilson was standing in the doorway. She glanced first at Alejandro, then at the neat pile of dirty linens in the corner, and then - greatly puzzled - at Felipe.

Felipe pointed at Gilberto and motioned for quiet. She nodded, set the tray she was carrying on the dresser, and sat on the edge of the bed. She reached out and checked for fever, peered at his tongue. Alejandro could hardly argue. He didn't argue either, when she retrieved a bowl of porridge and started to feed him.

After the second bite he noticed that he was hungrier then he usually was during one of these attacks. And his belly wasn't sore from being sick. The food was actually welcome...

Long before he had finished the bowl he began to tire. _Defeated by a bowl of porridge_, he thought, as Senora Neilson cleared away the bowl and napkin. Alejandro closed his eyes.

A moment later the bed dipped again as Felipe took Senora Neilson's place on the edge. He nudged Alejandro's arm.

Alejandro opened his eyes heavily.

Felipe asked if he had a headache.

Alejandro shook his head.

Then Felipe asked something about ears.

Alejandro's lassitude retreated before a stab of worry. "What's wrong with your ears?"

Patiently, slowly, Felipe traced out, "Not _my_ ears. _Your _ears. Ringing, in your, ears."

Oh. _Cinchona_ side effects. Alejandro shook his head and braced himself for what was coming next. Sure enough, Felipe produced a tumbler half-full of hazy water. Alejandro reached for it. Felipe steadied his hands and helped lift the glass.

The medicine was unbearably bitter. The taste of the tincture was even worse than the decoction. After three swallows, Felipe relented and set the glass aside. Felipe smiled. "You rest now. The doctor will come later."

And if he was strong enough, he'd be allowed to be taken home...where they would continue to dose him with as much _cinchona_ they could safely manage...and prepare for the next round.

The next round would start tomorrow, and the whole dreadful thing might repeat again and again and again. If the medicine didn't work the fever itself might wear him out and kill him. Or, if he was really unlucky, blackwater fever would set in...

Of course, if they weren't careful, the medicine might kill him. Or leave him crippled. Even if they _were_ careful...

The door opened softly and Alejandro slitted his eyes open. Diego crept in. Seeing he was awake. Diego joined Felipe on the edge of the bed and squeezed Alejandro's ankle. Alejandro managed a smile.

Diego turned to Felipe and plunged into a rapid and fluid set of questions and instructions in sign. The discussion was far too fast and complicated for Alejandro to follow, but the longer it went on the more surprised Felipe seemed to get. Very shortly he was waving adios and heading or the door.

Alejandro raised his brows.

Diego answered easily, "I've sent him home to get my medicine and have the coach readied to come get us later." He glanced at Gilberto, who still sleeping soundly despite all the activity, and went over to prod him in the shoulder. "Wake up, old man, you need to get up."

Gilberto grunted.

Diego sighed. "I _am _sorry. You need to get up. Go get some breakfast. You need to be alert."

Gilberto lifted his head and pushed his hair out of his eyes. "What?" and then "You're kidding."

"I'm not. Go eat something. We'll talk when Felipe gets back."

Gilberto sat up and rubbed his face. "How is Father?"

"He's doing well. As you can see."

"Ah. And you?"

Diego hesitated. "All right just now. Go on. Get something to eat."

The exchange was...odd, but Alejandro couldn't have said why. He was so very tired. Diego sat again on the bed and patted his ankle, and Alejandro's eyes slipped closed.

**Gilberto**

When Consuela brought his breakfast, Gilberto asked, "Is there a new tax posted?"

She blinked in surprise. "Don Gilberto?" she asked flustered. "A new tax?" She glanced around as though she was expecting to find the answer in the air. "Not that I've heard."

"A civil penalty scheduled, then?"

"No...no," she rubbed her hands nervously across her apron.

It occurred to Gilberto that he had rarely spoken to her before and now here he was, curt and unshaven, asking odd questions. He tried again. "Is anything...unusual going on?"

"Well..." she said patiently, "Your father is ill..."

Gilberto sighed. He pointed to the corner, where Victoria was in a serious discussion with Don Emilio and Senorita Amanda. "What are they doing?"

"I think...planning a party? Their engagement party." She glanced at the corner in question. "They had to delay it, you know...after his injury?" The fight with Thackery. Gilberto winced. "He seems to have recovered very well...um I suppose?"

"He has a house in town," Gilberto said. Could that idiot be up to something? He desperately wished Diego could have been more specific this morning. "Why is he having a party here?"

She looked (if possible) even more confused. "It's more extravagant?" she suggested gently.

Gilberto rubbed his hand over his eyes and waved her away. Ugh. Why was Diego implying that they would need Zorro? But Diego was always right. Grimly, he began to fork in his breakfast.

The doctor arrived just as he was finishing. Gilberto swiftly got to his feet and followed him upstairs.

Father was dozing when they entered. Taking a good look in full daylight...Gilberto cringed inwardly. Alejandro de le Vega was a fairly large man, and, more than that, strong and active. He dominated any room he entered. Most conversations turned his way. He was seldom still, and even when he was, he was palpably, vitally _present_.

The man under the blankets was small, old, still, and far too quiet. Fear rolled in, sharp and painful, and for a moment Gilberto couldn't breathe. He knew Father was human and vulnerable and _mortal_, but, dear God, looking at this frail body in daylight -

Diego seized Gilberto by the arm and hauled him into the little corridor. "Stop it," he hissed.

Gilberto's head turned back toward the room. Diego quickly blocked his view. "Stop thinking," he commanded. "You were wonderful last night, don't fall apart now."

Gilberto cleared his throat. He nodded.

"Father is doing very well," Diego continued, stepping very close. "He is not as depleted as this usually leaves him." He winced at having to say _usually_ but continued determinedly. "Senora Neilson took us a long way by quieting his stomach and blunting the fever. We got a great deal of medicine into him very early. He will be all right. He will."

Gilberto managed a tight nod. Diego squeezed his arm. "We have other problems at the moment."

Gilberto tried to ignore the image of the sickroom that still hovered behind his eyes. "Yes, what was that nonsense, getting me up this morning? I could still be sleeping." He signed "The alcalde has done nothing. We don't need a fox."

"Not him. The good townspeople!" Diego made a disgusted noise. "They are actually worried that the Neilsons are some kind of witches. We need a distraction. It's all I can think of."

"We could get them out of town..."

"How? We are both needed here. And, frankly, if it looks like Oksana and Anton are running that may just provoke people further..."

Gilberto groaned. "Father tried to warn us yesterday. He could see this coming."

"Yes, and now we must take care of it. Go tidy up, I'll meet with the doctor when he comes out - Yes, I know you could, but I know how you hate it."

"It's all guessing," Gilberto said defensively. "They don't know anything. And they_ lie_ - "

"Doctor Hernandez will not lie, and we can already guess what he'll say. Today is the day in between. Tomorrow will be...fairly bad. We may go through the cycle a few more times before the tincture works, but Father is strong enough to withstand it." He pointed to the room Victoria had given them and gave him a little shove. "You have other things to worry about at this particular minute."

**Diego**

Father was soundly asleep before Diego had finished seeing the doctor out. The doctor instructed no more _cinchona_ for five hours. He had given Father a sleeping draught, but said he could be taken home after he had woken and eaten. "I'm going out to the Segovia hacienda, so I won't be back today, but I will come by tomorrow afternoon to see how the paroxysm is progressing."

Diego shut the door to the little room and leaned against it, sighing. This was what they had all been dreading since the raw _cinchona_ supply had been destroyed in the quake. But Father was holding his own. Yes, Diego whished Father Benitez was back. And he wished Father was at home in his own bed. Still, things could be much worse. Everything might yet be all right -

Footsteps on the stairs: stumblingly fast, nearly frantic. Diego peeked out the door. It was Felipe. Diego stepped into the hallway - and Felipe shoved the saddlebags into Diego's arms, signing in a panic, "The Russian is here! Everyone is crazy! They are saying witch!"

Rudely, Diego spun away and burst into the second room, where Gilberto was still unshaven and sharpening his knife. Diego tossed the saddlebags onto the bed. "Hurry up. We may need a rescue, not a distraction - No, whatever you do, don't go out looking like you've been up all night. I'll slow things down, somehow." Without waiting for an answer he turned away, nearly tripping over Felipe who was just behind him. "Go to Father," he ordered. "Lock the door and don't come out until this is over. And if anyone asks, Gilberto was with you."

He started to push past, but Felipe caught his arm and put a small, glass bottle into his hand. His medicine. Diego shoved the bottle into his sash and went down the stairs as quickly as he dared.

When he exited into the square he found a large crowd. Mendoza stood to one side, holding the boy Anton by the shoulders, but Oksana and Daniil Neilson were being tied to stakes beside the fountain. Friez was standing on the edge of the fountain, shouting at the crowd. "We had witch in ninety-seven. She escaped! For five years we had no rain!"

Diego swung on Mendoza, "Sergeant, what is going on?" he demanded.

"Nobody meant for this to happen!" he protested. "I only meant that they're different, that's all."

"You are the law! Put a stop to it!"

Mendoza firmly pushed Anton into Diego's arms and stepped forward, calling for order. Nobody heard him. Friez was calling for stoning. Don Emilio was protesting that burning or hanging was more official. Rivas was demanding a trial and the supervision of the church, but Rivas was poor and uneducated and he did not have the confidence to hold out for long. The crowd was growing, a whirl of anger and panic.

Diego looked down at Anton, who was leaning hard against him. Diego was unsure about the state of the boy's Spanish or if he would obey instructions even if he understood them. He looked around - and spotted Victoria coming out of the cuartel with the alcalde. Oh, she was splendid. He tucked Anton under his arm and angled toward them.

"What is the meaning of all this?" Ramone demanded.

There was a short silence, and then everyone answered at once.

"Witches!" The alcalde bellowed. "Witches? Have you all gone mad? Is this some kind of _joke_? Have you people no dignity? Even if they _were_ witches - " The crowd slowed a bit, growing more quiet. It might be fear of the alcalde that had their attention...or it might be the three lancers that had come out of the cuartel to stand nervously behind him.

"There!" Victoria shouted. "Stop this nonsense and go home!"

Mendoza and one of the lancers had nearly reached the Neilsons at the center of the crowd. Diego let out the breath he had been holding. This was almost over. Almost.

"However..." the alcalde said thoughtfully, "These people _did _grow corn, tomatoes, and beans where nothing had grown before..."

Furious, Victoria spun on him. "You don't believe that!"

He shrugged. "It doesn't matter what I believe. It's what_ they_ believe."

Friez leapt on this opening. "His wife uses witch's sorcery to heal the sick! They _must_ be witches!"

Victoria glanced at Diego and the two of them closed on the alcalde. "You are siding with this mob because if the Nielsons are convicted of witchcraft, you would be able to confiscate their property, which has increased in value, wouldn't you say?" she accused.

He smiled innocently. "Why, I hadn't thought of that."

_He is enjoying the game_, Diego thought. _He is amused at the chaos, the carnage._ Only the fact that his arms were full of Anton kept Diego from leaping on the alcalde right there. "You are not a popular man, Ramone," he snarled. "If you allow this, I swear before God, I will turn them on you next!"

The smile disappeared and was replaced with a look of benevolent concern. "The de le Vegas are already under their spell!" he shouted. "Soon they will ensnare us all! We must defend ourselves!"

The crowd was so loud by then that the probably couldn't even hear this encouragement. Mendoza had been pushed back and Oksana and Daniil Neilson were crouched in the mud of the square, securely tied to stakes. The mob was begging to back away. Ramone snatched a small rock off the ground and handed it to the nearest lancer -

In the open air the gunshot was flat-sounding and not particularly loud, but the noise made Diego jump so hard he could feel his heart stumble. The crowd was shocked, too, and turned to look -

And there was Zorro. Diego nearly laughed with relief.

Zorro tossed the pistol in his hand over the crowd and into the fountain. The lancer he'd taken the pistol from started to draw his sword, but he didn't have room to free his elbow and Zorro clocked him across the jaw before he could step back.

"That's Zorro! Arrest him! Kill him!" As always, the sight of Zorro erased the alcalde's other concerns.

A couple of the lancers tried to bring their muskets to bear, but in the crowded square they couldn't even aim, let alone risk a shot. The three lancers nearest Zorro drew their swords, but one got tangled in the mob that was scrambling to get out of the way and the other two were disarmed by Zorro before they'd finished their first sallies.

One of the lancers was circling behind the crowd, trying to get to Zorro from the side. Diego took a swift step backwards and tripped him. Diego, Anton, and the soldier went crashing to the ground in an awkward heap. Diego made a point of digging his knee into the man's hand as he stood up.

When he looked again, Zorro was standing behind Ramone, his sword lying neatly across the alcalde's throat. "Stay back, Señores, if you please," he said to the re-grouping lancers.

"Do as he says," Ramone said quickly.

"Why, thank you. How reasonable," Zorro said approvingly.

The alcalde stood very still and tried to look commanding and unruffled, an impossible feat given the masked bandit beside him and the sword at his throat.

"Now. You. Kindly cut them free. Yes, very nice."

The Neilsons rose unsteadily, glancing worriedly around. After only a moment, though, Daniil seized his wife by the arm and ran to where Diego was holding Anton. At once, Mendoza and Victoria followed, although the two of them could hardly have made a difference if the crowd had decided to charge.

The crowd, however, was watching Zorro, who lowered his sword and stepped back enough to give the alcalde his dignity back, even if he wasn't _quite_ far enough away to have his safety. "Citizens of Los Angeles," Diego intoned, "of what are these good people accused?"

"She uses black magic to cure the sick!" Friez shouted.

"Really?" Zorro drawled "How very useful black magic must be. Is this true, Senora?"

The alcalde started to speak. Zorro tapped him casually on the bicep with the flat of his sword.

She shook her head. "I know some medicines. I don't have magic!"

"Look at them! They dress all in back!" someone yelled.

Zorro laughed. "So do I. Go back to farming; you have no future as a witchfinder. Now." His voice grew hard. "Sergeant Mendoza!"

Mendoza took a step backward. Zorro motioned him over. Meekly, Mendoza stepped forward.

"What could possibly make you suspect the Nielsons of witchcraft?" Zorro asked sweetly.

Mendoza, by this point, was bright read. "Well, Zorro... _He_ told me they used night roots to make things grow," Mendoza said miserably, "It all sounded very...magical to me, you know?"

Zorro chuckled. "Then clearly you don't read Don Diego's excellent newspaper, the Los Angeles Guardian! An English scientist recently discovered that _saltpeter_ induces growth in plants and vegetables. The chemical name for saltpeter is potassium _nitrate_. Not night _root_, Sergeant."

"I am sorry, Zorro," Mendoza said.

"And so you should be," he looked out at the crowd and frowned. His disappointment was so palpable that Diego nearly felt ashamed. 'Berto must have learned the trick of it from Juan. "Ignorance and prejudice are alive and well, my friends. They never sleep." He turned back to Ramone, "And as for you..."

"Please, Brother, don't kill him!" Daniil Neilson interrupted, stepping forward.

"I wouldn't dream of it," Zorro said cheerfully. "Someone bring me some manacles."

He let the crowd watch as he chained the alcalde - kneeling - beside the fountain and broke the key off in the lock. Then he sent the lancers into the cuartel, waited until the Neilsons had gathered their things and gotten into their wagon, and took off running, headed west around the side of the tavern.

The alcalde started yelling immediately, and the lancers had _cleverly_ mounted up while they waited in the cuartel...but of course, they found no trace of Zorro. Madly, yelling, they rode in all directions, dispersing the rest of the crowd and very nearly trampling a passing dog, but they couldn't catch a glimpse of Zorro or his horse.

From his position crouching on the ground, the alcalde demanded that riders be sent out on the roads...and then that the barns and granaries in town be searched...and in between he bellowed for the blacksmith to come cut him free...and he shouted foul names at Mendoza.

Diego sighed.

Victoria slipped a slender hand through his arm. "Diego?" she said softly. "You are very pale. Let's go inside."

Crossing half the plaza looked like a very long way, but he was not going to admit that right now. Diego allowed her to draw him away from the bellowing alcalde toward the shade of the tavern porch. It was only two steps up, but the little exertion made spots dance before his eyes. He sank into a chair at the nearest table.

"Do you need me to fetch some water?" Victoria asked softly.

"Only some to drink," Diego said. "If you wouldn't mind. That was...that was nearly very..."

She nodded understandingly and hurried away. Once she was gone, Diego fished the little bottle of medicine out of his pocket. He was grateful she wasn't there to see. How ironic, that he still had the strength to fuel that pointless vanity...but not quite the clarity of thought to remember exactly when or how large his last two doses had been. _Small_, yes, he had been carrying very little. Small,but small enough to warrant taking the next dose early?

Ah, well. Felipe would have prepared this bottle expecting Diego to take a third at a time. That was a good enough place to start. He downed a single, bitter, swallow. The bottle was neatly put away when Victoria returned.

"You were very brave," she said, setting two glasses of lemonade on the table.

Diego washed the biting taste of the medicine with the sour taste of the lemonade. "_You_ were brilliant," he said.

"Oh, yes. Getting the alcalde. He was such a huge help!"

Diego sighed, setting his glass down harder than he meant to. "I am sorry," he said.

"Sorry? Why?"

"I cannot think of a way to get rid of him."

"Oh. _Well_." She smiled wistfully. "I can. But the only ones that would _work_ are treasonous."

Diego couldn't quite keep himself from laughing at that but he quickly sobered. "Don't, please. It is hard enough, without getting careless..."

She nodded, sobering too. "Without getting careless and saying things we shouldn't. I know." She glanced over Diego's shoulder. "Oh, look. The blacksmith has arrived. How nice for him..." She dropped her eyes. "The alcalde I understand - he doesn't even pretend he's a good man. But our neighbors, our _friends_..."

"If you are hoping I can think of an excuse, I can't."

Her eyes widened at his harshness.

Diego sagged. "Forgive me. It was a very bad night and today was..." There were no words, really, for how bad today had been.

Victoria studied the table sadly. "They will be all right, won't they?"

"The Neilsons? Oh, yes. _Only_ because of Zorro but...Everyone will assume he is guarding their trip home."

"Do you think they will stay?"

"Probably. They are very stubborn."

The tavern door opened and Gilberto stepped out. "Diego? I heard there was some excitement?"

Diego took a deep breath. "Some. It is finished now. How is Father?"

"Still sleeping."

"Ah." Diego nodded. "He will be upset he wasn't here...he was so worried."

There was a short silence. Gilberto pulled out a chair and sat down. Victoria sighed and went in to check on lunch, "Not that I am expecting much of a crowd..." She made a face.

"Are you all right?" Gilberto asked when she was gone.

Diego nodded. "The morning dose was a bit small. And the evening. But I'm feeling better now." He managed a smile. "You were wonderful."

Gilberto made face.

Diego shifted a bit closer and lowered his voice further. "You were. Father would have been very proud. It's a shame he won't know - "

Gilberto fixed him with a hard look. "I'm just as happy he doesn't."

Diego didn't understand.

"I am not so desperate for his approval that I want it this way!"

"Standing up for what is right even when it is unpopular?" Diego asked tartly.

Gilberto snorted and ran his hands through his hair. "Against our friends and neighbors? Rivas was there! Even Carlito. And Mendoza is supposed to be a friend of yours. I suppose I'm not surprised about Emilio Pascal, but Don Carlos was standing right there, and if he wasn't picking up stones, he wasn't stopping it either."

For Gilberto, Diego found the excuse he couldn't give Victoria. "They were afraid..."

"Afraid?" Gilberto threw up his hands. "_I _am terrified."

"Lower your voice."

Gilberto closed his eyes.

"It isn't wrong, to be vigilant against evil," Diego murmured.

"The only evil - !" Gilberto sputtered.

"Yes, I know. The only evil was our pious community."

They were silent for a while.

"What will you say about this in the newspaper?"

"Nothing," Diego decided after a moment. "Not one word. There won't be space. _The Guardian_ will be completely taken up with the history of Russia. And Russian recipes. And a word for word translation of that article on sodium nitrate."

Gilberto didn't answer. He only stared out at the plaza for a long time.


	22. January 21, 1815

_So this is it - another installment finished. I've started the next, but I've managed 3 sentences in the last 4 days. It might be a while. _

_Thank you everybody, for sticking with me this far._

**January 14, 1815**

**Felipe **

By lamplight, Diego glared at the book in his hands. Sometimes he turned a page, but Felipe was sure he wasn't actually reading it. Maria and Gilberto had banished him from the sick room. Well, Maria had really wanted both twins out of the way. She disapproved of their tendency to hover and involve themselves in what really ought to be women's work, or at least a servant's work. But Gilberto had stood fast and allied himself with her against Diego; in the end, when Don Alejandro's fever had started to rise early in the afternoon, Diego had been sent firmly away.

"You could check on them again," Diego said suddenly.

With the most pleasant expression he could manage, Felipe got up and went to the bedroom wing. Don Alejandro was arguing with someone named Guillermo, he could hear it from the hall. For a moment, he waited beside the door, unhappily listening as Maria tried to draw Don Alejandro back to the present. She was talking cheerfully about bulls and sheep and the new house in town...

Gilberto came to the door and handed him a pot that needed cleaning out. At Felipe's worried look he lifted his chin. "His fever is not as high as it was last night. There is some improvement."

Felipe glanced pointedly at the container in his hands.

Gilberto sighed. "His stomach is...unsettled. Whatever Senora Neilson did..." But she was far away and they could not ask her again anyway, not after what had happened in town. The twins had hoped this bout would not be so bad. "I don't suppose Diego has gone to bed? Naturally. Tell him not to worry. He is not as hot this time. That is what matters."

Felipe cleaned out the pot, but on his way to return it there was a knock at the door. That was very odd, this late at night. Diego rose at once and moved to stand next to the door. There was a tiny knife in his hand. Felipe had not seen from where he'd drawn it.

Felipe opened the door, stepping swiftly back - and stumbling in surprise as he discovered Father Benitez on the other side.

"Good heavens!" Diego exclaimed. "When did you get back?"

"Not an hour ago," he said wearily, absently blessing Felipe as he passed. "Carlito started speaking before he even unhitched the horse...his tale was scarcely believable. I had him hitch up the donkey..."

"Have you even had anything to eat?" Diego asked.

"No. And I am not ashamed to admit I am famished."

"Come to the kitchen - I hope you don't mind."

"Not at all. In fact we have work there. How is your father?"

Felipe didn't hear the answer; he was hurrying ahead to light candles from the embers in the fireplace and lay hands on some food. He felt a sharp embarrassment. There was no way he could produce a meal fit for the parish priest. No one had had a proper meal today and anyway, Nuela was doing the cooking since Maria was taking care of the patron and - and -

He stood in the entrance to the pantry with no idea to do until Diego said quietly, "Bread and cheese, will do, Felipe. And any fruit we have."

"Stoke the fire, first," Father Benitez said. "We'll need boiling water." He handed a small leather packet to Diego. While Felipe sliced bread and cheese, Diego laid the packet on the table and untied the straps. Inside was a paper packet, also tightly tied. Inside of that was about a handful of brownish powder.

Diego gaped. Then he leaned down and carefully smelled it. "Peruvian bark," he said. _Cinchona_. "How did you manage this?"

"I'm sorry. It's not very much," Father Benitez said, sitting down heavily.

"It's a miracle."

Felipe set a plate and cheese in front of the priest and started slicing an apple.

"There will be more," Father Benitez said, taking a bite. When he finished chewing, he continued, "In a couple of months, a most. Two ships from South America."

Diego retrieved a large pottery bowl and carefully poured the powdery bark into it. "You don't sound as pleased as I would expect," he said.

Father Benitez chewed wearily and took a long swallow of wine from the cup Felipe set in front of him. "One of the ships will also be bringing...a great deal of responsibility...and a great deal of work. Oh, a blessing, of course! I don't mean to imply otherwise, it has only been a very long day..."

Diego motioned for Felipe to check the heating water and sat down with one of his hands curved protectively around the bowl. "What was the meeting about?"

"Alta California is to receive another batch of orphans from the south."

"Another - Monterrey again?" Diego fumbled.

Felipe asked, "The Sergeant?"

Diego nodded. "Yes. One of a couple of dozen or so children sent to Monterrey, thirty years ago or more."

Father Benitez sighed. "Twenty this time. And two nuns. They are coming to San Gabriel."

"Good heavens," Diego said.

"It is not ideal...but San Gabriel _is_ doing very well. They can afford the extra mouths. For a while at least we can..." He shook his head, "But most of us would prefer to have these children in their own, separate domicile."

Diego thought. Father Benitez ate. Felipe checked the water again. Nearly boiling.

Diego said, "What is the Church's position - I mean to say, can we foster them out?"

"Perhaps. A few. But the Church is responsible - And no, I cannot send one _here_. It is too difficult to keep secrets from children. It wouldn't be safe."

The water boiled. Diego carefully poured it into the bowl, swirling and darkening the brown powder.

"We have a few months to prepare," Father Benitez said finally. "There is no hurry."

"Would you like to spend the night?"

"I should see your father first. But yes, then. I'd be grateful not to have to go back to town tonight." He set the plate aside, thanked Felipe, and followed Diego from the kitchen. It occurred to Felipe that leading the priest was a neat way to avoid his banishment from the sickroom.

**Epilogue**

**January 21, 1815**

**Victoria**

It was a beautiful, warm afternoon. Both Consuela and Pilar were working, and there weren't many customers. The only reasons not to ride out to the de le Vega hacienda was her own worries, and Victoria was thoroughly sick of worries. The put on her riding skirt and rented a saddle horse from the livery stable.

The ride out was delightfully warm and sunny and over too quickly. When she rounded the last turn she reined up in surprise. Felipe and Don Gilberto were running up and down the road, apparently trying to get a kite into the air. Gilberto was shouting a good deal - alternating instructions and encouragement. For a moment the kite left his hands and tugged against the string. And then it flipped nose down and crashed into the short grass beside the road.

Smiling, Victoria carefully angled the horse to the side and walked around the wild activity. She found Diego and Don Alejandro seated at a table in the front courtyard watching the antics through the gate. Don Alejandro was laughing. He looked very well - a tremendous improvement over the last time he had seen him. Victoria waved, tied up the horse and joined them. "I see Felipe has a new hobby," she said cheerfully.

Don Alejandro started laughing again. Diego shook his head and offered Victoria a seat. "It is all Gilberto. He has become more and more interested in wind, so he is trying to build a kite." He frowned thoughtfully as the kite careened into the ground again. "I think the tail might not be heavy enough. I'm afraid it has been too long since either of us has made one."

"Well," she teased, "it is a pretty color, at least." It was, in fact, grey.

"Grey is dignified," Diego said primly.

Don Alejandro laughed again. "Grey is the only silk we had on hand. So, how are you Victoria? Is there any news from town?"

"I am quite well," she answered, "and the pueblo is just the same as it usually is. And, I am very glad to see that you are feeling better." She hesitated for a moment. "I was wondering if I could speak to Diego for a few minutes, though..."

"Certainly," Don Alejandro said. When she didn't begin in a moment or two, he frowned. "Alone?"

She tried not to look embarrassed. "If we could?"

He glanced at Diego and shrugged. "Go into the parlor. Just leave the curtains open so I can see you. That should be proper enough."

Diego didn't say anything until they were seated inside. It was only then that she realized he was watching her worriedly. "Victoria...have you come to discuss Zorro?"

"What? Oh! No. Nothing like that. It really is very quiet in town. The alcalde is still out at his house. Everything is fine."

"Ah." Diego leaned back in his chair. "What brings you out, then?"

Now that the moment had come, her belly seemed to twist and flutter. For a moment she almost gave in to her cowardice and invented some excuse, but no, that would only leave her to _think_ about it and _wish_ and _worry_, and she really didn't think she could bear that anymore.

"Victoria? Are you all right?"

"I've been thinking about your duel with Thackery."

"I try not to think of it at all," he said, his eyes sliding away.

"I don't mean what happened after. I mean...why you decided to do it in the first place."

"He was humiliating a friend of mine. I could hardy stand by and still keep my honor," he said. But that wasn't what he said before, and she didn't believe him.

"You knew there was a good chance it would end badly, that you might even be killed," she pressed, forcing herself to meet his eyes. "But you also knew you might win. And if you had won - Diego, it would have been a good thing for so many of us."

"Victoria, why are we discussing this? I failed to defeat Thackery. What else is there to say?"

"Yes, but the fact that you might fail wasn't a good enough reason not to do it. Don't you see how brave that was? How important? If we are always afraid because we _could_ fail, we'll never do anything!"

"So...are we discussing risk?" he asked, looking genuinely confused.

"No. No, we're discussing...Being afraid things might turn out badly isn't a reason not to do it."

Now he looked worried again. "Victoria, what is it you are thinking about doing?"

"I'm tired of meekly following the rules and being afraid of being rejected and making sensible, safe decisions. It's not 'good' and 'modest,' it's just cowardly. What I really want is worth all the risks." Her mouth was too dry to swallow. She could not bear to look at him, and she could not bear to look away. "I want a life with you, Diego. I know it would be difficult and it might end badly. But you understand me and respect me and I love you - "

Closing his eyes, he slowly shook his head. "No," he whispered.

"Because you don't love me?" He didn't answer, but she could see his answer in his face. "Because of your illness?"

"_Yes_, because of my illness! And don't say it doesn't matter - "

"Of course it matters! It matters because there might not be much time and you are wasting some of it by being stubborn."

He shook his head. "I am sorry, Victoria."

"And that's - " her voice cracked and she had to begin again, "And that's your final word?"

He nodded.

"I am very sorry to hear it." Her voice cracked again.

Diego stared past her shoulder. "So sorry that we...are no longer friends?"

She couldn't trust her voice, so she only shook her head and reached out to lay her hand on top of his.

"Don't think I've rejected you," he whispered.

A horrible, rusty laugh escaped her throat. "I know. You are just being stubborn." Stupid, she meant, but she would not say that to him. She was angry, but she wouldn't hurt him. He was obviously hurting enough at this moment.

They sat in silence for several moments. There was nothing to say, but she couldn't bear to leave. "Do you think you might play the piano for me?" she asked a little desperately.

"My pleasure," he said, rising slowly.

She should have let go of his arm, but her hand stayed where it was. Diego lifted it cordially, kissed her fingers very politely, and guided her up from the chair. He seated her with the same formality in the chair next to the piano and sat down on the stool. He played beautifully, and Victoria listened until his family came in laughing over the broken kite.

~end


End file.
